faintest swelling motion; it was only when it leaped ahead like a
living thing that one felt the power of it, by the pressure upon his
back.

They went at what seemed to Montague a breakneck pace through the
city streets, dodging among trucks .and carriages, grazing cars,
whirling round corners, taking the wildest of chances. Oliver seemed
always to know what the other fellow would do; but the thought that
he might do something different kept his companion's heart pounding
in a painful way. Once the latter cried out as a man leapt for his
life; Oliver laughed, and said, without turning his head, "You'll
get used to it by and by."

They went down Fourth Avenue and turned into the Bowery. Elevated
trains pounded overhead, and a maze of gin-shops, dime-museums,
cheap lodging-houses, and clothing-stores sped past them. Once or
twice Oliver's hawk-like glance detected a blue uniform ahead, and
then they slowed down to a decorous pace, and the other got a chance
to observe the miserable population of the neighbourhood. It was a
cold November day, and an "out of work" time, and wretched outcast
men walked with shoulders drawn forward and hands in their pockets.

"Where in the world are we going?" Montague asked.

"To Long Island," said the other. "It's a beastly ride--this part of
it--but it's the only way. Some day we'll have an overhead speedway
of our own, and we won't have to drive through this mess."

They turned off at the approach to the Williamsburg Bridge, and
found the street closed for repairs. They had to make a detour of a