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.
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