He'll be waiting for us."
Blackie's keen, clever mind grasped the situation as
soon as he saw us together. His dark face was illumined
by one of his rare smiles. "Coming with us, Orme? Do
you good. Pile into the tonneau, you two, and hang on to
your hair. I'm going to smash the law."
Peter sauntered up to the steering-wheel. "Let me
drive," he said. "I'm not bad at it."
"Nix with the artless amateur," returned Blackie.
"This ain't no demonstration car. I drive my own little
wagon when I go riding, and I intend to until I take my
last ride, feet first."
Peter muttered something surly and climbed into the
front seat next to Blackie, leaving me to occupy the
tonneau in solitary state.
Peter began to ask questions--dozens of them, which
Blackie answered, patiently and fully. I could not hear
all that they said, but I saw that Peter was urging
Blackie to greater speed, and that Blackie was explaining
that he must first leave the crowded streets behind.
Suddenly Peter made a gesture in the direction of the
wheel, and said something in a high, sharp voice.
Blackie's answer was quick and decidedly in the negative.
The next instant Peter Orme rose in his place and leaning
forward and upward, grasped the wheel that was
in Blackie's hands.
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