could have startled me. Yet I remember my Hero-Man looking back over his shoulder and then calling out for our driver to go faster. And I rather drowsily asked him why we were careening around the city that way, like a cat having a fit in a flat-kitchen.
"Because we're being followed!" was Wendy Washburn's reply; but even that statement didn't altogether waken my interest,
"But who's following us?" I sleepily inquired, as I tried to edge down into a more comfortable corner of the damp upholstery.
"I don't know, for sure," said the man beside me, "but I do know for sure that it will be better for them not to get up with us!"
"What'll they do to us?" I weakly inquired, as we skidded against the curb-stone with a jolt and went racing on again.
"Don't talk—you're too tired!" said the man at my side. I think he said it crossly. But I didn't even worry about it. For the next minute he was speaking much louder, and much more crossly to the driver in the front seat.
"They're gaining on us!" he called out, and I could feel the cab respond to the driver's dab at the throttle-lever. I could feel his old rattle-trap leap forward and go rocking and lurching along the
