Chapter Three. Ten Dollars and a Job For Bud - Page 2

"If you've got money to throw to the birds, brother, I guess I won't make the proposition I was going to make. Thought I could talk business to you, maybe--but I guess I better tie a can to that idea."

Bud grunted and put the ten dollars in his pocket.

"What idea's that?"

"Oh, driving a car I'm taking south. Sprained my shoulder, and don't feel like tackling it myself. They tell me in here that you aren't doing anything now--" He made the pause that asks for an answer.

"They told you right. I've done it."

The man's eyebrows lifted, but since Bud did not explain, he went on with his own explanation.

"You don't remember me, but I rode into Big Basin with you last summer. I know you can drive, and it doesn't matter a lot whether it's asphalt or cow trail you drive over."

Bud was in too sour a mood to respond to the flattery. He did not even grunt.

"Could you take a car south for me? There'll be night driving, and bad roads, maybe--"

"If you know what you say you know about my driving, what's the idea--asking me if I can?"

"Well, put it another way. Will you?"

"You're on. Where's the car? Here?" Bud sent a seeking look into the depths of the garage. He knew every car in there. "What is there in it for me?" he added perfunctorily, because he would have gone just for sake of getting a free ride rather than stay in San Jose over night.

"There's good money in it, if you can drive with your mouth shut. This isn't any booster parade. Fact is--let's walk to the depot, while I tell you." He stepped out of the doorway, and Bud gloomily followed him. "Little trouble with my wife," the man explained apologetically. "Having me shadowed, and all that sort of thing. And I've got business south and want to be left alone to do it. Darn these women!" he exploded suddenly.

Bud mentally said amen, but kept his mouth shut upon his sympathy with the sentiment.

"Foster's my name. Now here's a key to the garage at this address." He handed Bud a padlock key and an address scribbled on a card. "That's my place in Oakland, out by Lake Merritt. You go there to-night, get the car, and have it down at the Broadway Wharf to meet the 11:30 boat--the one the theater crowd uses. Have plenty of gas and oil; there won't be any stops after we start. Park out pretty well near the shore end as close as you can get to that ten-foot gum sign, and be ready to go when I climb in. I may have a friend with me. You know Oakland?"

"Fair to middling. I can get around by myself."

"Well, that's all right. I've got to go back to the city-- catching the next train. You better take the two-fifty to Oakland. Here's money for whatever expense there is. And say! put these