directed solely towards the rear. He watched the
stars and made out that the car was choosing roads that were gradually
bringing it around in a great circle. He supposed that it was bound
back for town--for the "club-house," if he was lucky.

Evan had no clear idea of what he meant to do. His one purpose was to
get Charley by himself. He knew the ascendancy that he possessed over
that mercurial youth.

They finally struck a smooth macadam road upon which they travelled
East at thirty-five miles an hour, the best, no doubt, the old car
could do. It was a well-travelled road. They passed all cars bound in
the same direction, and to the drivers of these cars Evan on his perch
was brilliantly revealed in the rays of their headlights. With the
idea of suggesting that it was all a joke, Evan waved facetiously to
them. They accepted it as intended, or at any rate none of them sought
to give him away. They passed through several villages, but the people
on the sidewalks rarely noticed Evan, or, if they did, they merely
gaped at him.

They crossed the long viaduct over the railway yards in Long Island
City, and Evan began to grow anxious. If they were going to traverse
the whole length of town how could he hope to avoid having the
attention of the two men on the front seat called to him by the
sharp-eyed small boys? They crossed the Plaza and swung out on
Queensboro Bridge, keeping close to the speed limit, or edging over it
a little. The drivers they passed still obligingly accepted Evan's
suggestion that he was paying an election bet, or was up to some other
foolishness.

They passed a limousine which looked familiar. Evan looked twice and
recognized the Deaves turnout. George Deaves sat behind the glass
windows, looking pale and shaken. So he had got out of the woods all
right! The chauffeur stared at Evan, then grinned widely, and stepped
on his accelerator. The big car came up close.

Evan saw Deaves lean forward to rebuke his chauffeur for the speed.
The chauffeur called his attention to Evan. Deaves' eyes nearly
started out of his head. Evan waved his hand. Deaves, with emphatic
adjurations to his chauffeur to slow up, fell back on his seat and
closed his eyes. "He wants to forget about me," thought Evan. The
limousine gradually dropped back out of sight.

Evan's anxiety about the streets of town was presently relieved. After
crossing the Bridge Plaza, where, to be sure, a number of people