The
man in the road jumped hastily to one side as the car shot backward
with a jerk, curved sharply, stopped for the fraction of a second, and
then bounded forward again, headed for the cross-roads.
"Thanks!" shouted the late passenger after the receding tail light,
and dashed up the steps to the porch that ran the full length of
Hart's Tavern. In the shelter of its low-lying roof, he stopped short
and once more peered down the dark, rain-swept road. A flash of
lightning revealed the flying automobile. He waited for a second
flash. It came an instant later, but the car was no longer visible. He
shook his head. "I hope the blamed old fool knows what he's doing,
hitting it up like that over a wet road. There'll be a double funeral
in this neck of the woods if anything goes wrong," he reflected. Still
shaking his head, he faced the closed door of the Tavern.
A huge, old-fashioned lantern hung above the portal, creaking and
straining in the wind, dragging at its stout supports and threatening
every instant to break loose and go frolicking away with the storm.
The sound of the rain on the clap-board roof was deafening. At the
lower end of the porch the water swished in with all the velocity of a
gigantic wave breaking over a ship at sea.
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