Cabin Fever - Page 13/118

"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. And say! put these number plates in your

pocket, and take off the ones on the car. I bought these of a fellow

that had a smash--they'll do for the trip. Put them on, will you? She's

wise to the car number, of course. Put the plates you take off under

the seat cushion; don't leave 'em. Be just as careful as if it was a

life-and-death matter, will you? I've got a big deal on, down there, and

I don't want her spilling the beans just to satisfy a grudge--which she

would do in a minute. So don't fail to be at the ferry, parked so you

can slide out easy. Get down there by that big gum sign. I'll find you,

all right."

"I'll be there." Bud thrust the key and another ten dollars into his

pocket and turned away.

"And don't say anything--"

"Do I look like an open-faced guy?"

The man laughed. "Not much, or I wouldn't have picked you for the

trip." He hurried down to the depot platform, for his train was already

whistling, farther down the yards.

Bud looked after him, the corners of his mouth taking their normal,

upward tilt. It began to look as though luck had not altogether deserted

him, in spite of the recent blow it had given. He slid the wrapped

number plates into the inside pocket of his overcoat, pushed his hands

deep into his pockets, and walked up to the cheap hotel which had been

his bleak substitute for a home during his trouble. He packed everything

he owned--a big suitcase held it all by squeezing--paid his bill at the

office, accepted a poor cigar, and in return said, yes, he was going to

strike out and look for work; and took the train for Oakland.

A street car landed him within two blocks of the address on the tag, and

Bud walked through thickening fog and dusk to the place. Foster had a

good-looking house, he observed. Set back on the middle of two lots, it

was, with a cement drive sloping up from the street to the garage backed

against the alley. Under cover of lighting a cigarette, he inspected the

place before he ventured farther. The blinds were drawn down--at least

upon the side next the drive. On the other he thought he caught a gleam

of light at the rear; rather, the beam that came from a gleam of light

in Foster's dining room or kitchen shining on the next house. But he was

not certain of it, and the absolute quiet reassured him so that he went

up the drive, keeping on the grass border until he reached the garage.

This, he told himself, was just like a woman--raising the deuce around

so that a man had to sneak into his own place to get his own car out of

his own garage. If Foster was up against the kind of deal Bud had been

up against, he sure had Bud's sympathy, and he sure would get the best

help Bud was capable of giving him.