From where he sat he could look across at the muddy car
standing before a closed millinery-and-drygoods store. It surely
did not look much like the immaculate machine he had gloated over
the evening before, but it was a powerful, big brute of a car and
looked its class in every line. Bud was proud to drive a car like
that. The curtains were buttoned down tight, and he thought
amusedly of the two men huddled inside, shivering and hungry, yet
refusing to come in and get warmed up with a decent breakfast.
Foster, he thought, must certainly be scared of his wife, if he
daren't show himself in this little rube town. For the first time
Bud had a vagrant suspicion that Foster had not told quite all
there was to tell about this trip. Bud wondered now if Foster was
not going to meet a "Jane" somewhere in the South. That
terrifying Mann Act would account for his caution much better
than would the business deal of which Foster had hinted.
Of course, Bud told himself while the waiter refilled his
coffee cup, it was none of his business what Foster had up his
sleeve. He wanted to get somewhere quickly and quietly, and Bud
was getting him there. That was all he need to consider. Warmed
and once more filled with a sense of well-being, Bud made
himself a cigarette before the lunch was ready, and with his arms
full of food he went out and across the street.
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