Doom On The Hill

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“FIGURING on reaching New York tonight?”

The filling-station attendant asked the question as he was replacing the cap on the gasoline tank of a trim coupe. The owner of the car, standing with a five-dollar bill in his hand, gave a nod as his response.

“Past eight o’clock now,” remarked the gas man, hanging the hose on the standard. “You’ll be lucky if you pull in by three in the morning.”

“My calculation was two thirty,” responded the motorist, as he followed the attendant into the service station. “Twenty miles more along the superhighway; then turn right along the Interstate Trail. Traffic is fairly heavy; but the roads are dry. I can make good time.”

“That’s the way most of ‘em go through,” observed the attendant, as he pounded the keys on the cash register. “In fact, that’s the way I usually advise ‘em to go. But I can give you a tip that’ll cut off twenty miles.”

“Bad roads?”

“Not when they’re dry. That’s why I’m giving you the tip. There hasn’t been a drop of rain in this county during the past three weeks. You take this route I’m showing you and I guarantee you won’t have to drop under fifty anywhere along the line.”

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