BUD CANNOT PERFORM MIRACLES
They went on and on, through the rain and the wind, sometimes
through the mud as well, where the roads were not paved. Foster
had almost pounced upon the newspaper when he discovered it in
Bud's pocket as he climbed in, and Bud knew that the two read
that feature article avidly. But if they had any comments to
make, they saved them for future privacy. Beyond a few muttered
sentences they were silent.
Bud did not care whether they talked or not. They might have
talked themselves hoarse, when it came to that, without changing
his opinions or his attitude toward them. He had started out the
most unsuspecting of men, and now he was making up for it by
suspecting Foster and Mert of being robbers and hypocrites and
potential murderers. He could readily imagine them shooting him
in the back of the head while he drove, if that would suit their
purpose, or if they thought that he suspected them.
He kept reviewing his performance in that garage. Had he really
intended to steal the car, he would not have had the nerve to
take the chances he had taken. He shivered when he recalled how
he had slid under the car when the owner came in. What if the man
had seen him or heard him? He would be in jail now, instead of
splashing along the highway many miles to the south.
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