"You ought to know, with your own car--and gas costing what
it does."

"Oh!--ah--what was it you asked?" Foster yawned aloud. "I
musta been asleep."

"I guess you musta been, all right," Bud grunted. "Do you want
breakfast here, or don't you? I've got to stop for gas and oil;
that's what I was asking?"

The two consulted together, and finally told Bud to stop at the
first garage and get his oil and gas. After that he could drive
to a drug store and buy a couple of thermos bottles, and after
that he could go to the nearest restaurant and get the bottles
filled with black coffee, and have lunch put up for six people.
Foster and his friend would remain in the car.

Bud did these things, revising the plan to the extent of eating
his own breakfast at the counter in the restaurant while the
lunch was being prepared in the kitchen.

From where he sat he could look across at the muddy car
standing before a closed millinery-and-drygoods store. It surely
did not look much like the immaculate machine he had gloated over
the evening before, but it was a powerful, big brute of a car and
looked its class in every line. Bud was proud to drive a car like
that. The curtains were buttoned down tight, and he thought
amusedly of the two men huddled inside, shivering and hungry, yet
refusing to come in and get warmed up with a decent breakfast.