My heart sank as he gave the directions. It seemed miles away.
Just then the blinding lights of a car flashed on us as it came
down the road parallel to the tracks. He waved his light and the
car stopped. It was empty, except for a chauffeur evidently
returning from a joy ride.
"Take these gentlemen as far as Smith's corner, will you?" asked
the watchman. "Then show 'em the turn up to Whitney's."
The chauffeur was an obliging chap, especially as it cost him
nothing to earn a substantial tip with his master's car. However,
we were glad enough to ride in anything on wheels, and not over-
particular at that hour about the ownership.
"Mr. Whitney hasn't been out here much lately," he volunteered as
he sped along the beautiful oiled road, and the lights cast
shadows on the trees that made driving as easy as in daylight.
"No, he has been very busy," returned Craig glad to turn to
account the opportunity to talk with a chauffeur, for it is the
chauffeur in the country who is the purveyor of all knowledge and
gossip.
"His car passed us when I was driving up from the city. My boss
won't let me speed or I wouldn't have taken his dust. Gee, but he
does wear out the engines in his cars, Whitney.
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