Fortunately the grade was downward, and we had but little difficulty in sending the car on its way.  At the end of half an hour the stream came in sight, and then as we slackened up I hopped off.

Down by the water’s edge I found that the bridge had shifted fully six inches out of line with the roadbed.  It was, however, in a pretty safe condition, and I had no difficulty in crossing to the other side.

Despite the storm a goodly number of men were assembled on the opposite bank, anxiously watching the efforts of the workmen.  Among them I found a man, evidently a cabman, standing near a coupe, the horses of which were still smoking from a long run.

“Are you from Foley?” I asked, stepping up.

“No; just come all the way from Chicago,” was the reply.  “Had to bring two men down that wanted to get to Smalleyville.”

This was interesting news.  Perhaps I could get the man to take me back with him.  Of course he would take me if I hired him in the regular way, but if I did this, I was certain he would charge me a small fortune.

“I am going to Chicago,” I said.  “I just came from Smalleyville.”

“That so?  Want to hire my rig?”

“You charge too much,” I returned.  “A fellow like me can’t afford luxuries.”

“Take you there for two dollars.  It’s worth five—­ those two men gave me ten.”

“What time will you land me in Chicago?”

“Where do you want to go?”

That question was a poser.  I knew no more of the city of Chicago than I did of Paris or Pekin.  Yet I did not wish to be set down on the outskirts, and not to show my ignorance I answered cautiously:—­

“To the railroad depot.”

“Have you the time now?”

“It is about seven o’clock.”

“I’ll be there by nine.”

“All right.  Land me there by that time, and I’ll pay you the two dollars.”

“It’s a go.  Jump in,” he declared.

I did so.  A moment later he gathered up the reins, and we went whirling down the road.

The ride was an easy one, and as we bowled along I had ample opportunity to ponder over my situation.  I wondered what Mr. Allen Price would think when he discovered I was nowhere to be found.  I could well imagine his chagrin, and I could not help smiling at the way I had outwitted him.  I was not certain what sort of a man Chris Holtzmann would prove to be, and therefore it was utterly useless to plan a means of approaching him.

At length we reached the suburbs of Chicago, and rolled down one of the broad avenues.  It was now clear and bright, and the clean broad street with its handsome houses pleased me very much.

In half an hour we reached the business portion of the city, and soon the coupe came to a halt and the driver opened the door.

“Here we are,” said he.

I jumped to the ground and gazed around.  Opposite was the railroad station, true enough, and beyond blocks and blocks of tall business buildings, which reminded me strongly of New York.