In that case, Bud decided that the best
way would be to let her go. He could pile on to the empty trunk
rack behind, and manage somehow to get off with the car when she
stopped. Still, there was not much chance of her going out in the
fog--and now that he listened, he heard the drip of rain. No,
there was not much chance. Foster had not seemed to think there
was any chance of the car being in use, and Foster ought to know.
He would wait until about ten-thirty, to play safe, and then go.
Rain spelled skid chains to Bud. He looked in the tool box,
found a set, and put them on. Then, because he was not going to
take any chances, he put another set, that he found hanging up,
on the front wheels. After that he turned out the light, took
down the robe and wrapped himself in it, and laid himself down on
the rear seat to wait for ten-thirty.
He dozed, and the next he knew there was a fumbling at the door
in front, and the muttering of a voice. Bud slid noiselessly out
of the car and under it, head to the rear where he could crawl
out quickly. The voice sounded like a man, and presently the door
opened and Bud was sure of it. He caught a querulous sentence or
two.
"Door left unlocked--the ignorant hound--Good thing I
don't trust him too far--" Some one came fumbling in and
switched on the light.
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