"Careless hound--told him to be careful
--never even put the robe on the rail where it belongs--and
then they howl about the way they're treated! Want more wages--
don't earn what they do get--"
Bud, twisting his head, saw a pair of slippered feet beside the
running board. The owner of the slippers was folding the robe and
laying it over the rail, and grumbling to himself all the while.
"Have to come out in the rain--daren't trust him an inch--
just like him to go off and leave the door unlocked--" With a
last grunt or two the mumbling ceased. The light was switched
off, and Bud heard the doors pulled shut, and the rattle of the
padlock and chain. He waited another minute and crawled out.
"Might have told me there was a father-in-law in the outfit,"
he grumbled to himself. "Big a butt-in as Marie's mother, at
that. Huh. Never saw my suit case, never noticed the different
numbers, never got next to the chains--huh! Regular old he-hen,
and I sure don't blame Foster for wanting to tie a can to the
bunch."
Very cautiously he turned his flashlight on the face of the
automobile clock. The hour hand stood a little past ten, and Bud
decided he had better go. He would have to fill the gas tank, and
get more oil, and he wanted to test the air in his tires.
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