He ambled down till he was just behind the Jolls car, which was taking the hill very slowly. Poodle was sure that Jolls would never go to his real destination, where Hike was, unless he got rid of the car that seemed to be pursuing him. He had been sure that Jolls would slow up, to let the other car get ahead. He chuckled cheerfully to find that he had guessed right. Once behind the car, the loafing country-boy suddenly changed to a panting runner. Poodle dashed up behind the Jolls car, caught at the back-thrust hood, and swung up beneath it, clinging to the springs and back of the car with his toes. As the car, passing the top of the hill, increased its speed a little, Poodle settled himself, not into a comfortable position, but into a safe one, crouching on the trunk rack. As he had expected, the Jolls car took a side road at the bottom of the decline, to escape the “pursuing car” ahead; then let out speed. They rode about seven miles, with Poodle swaying behind, then, in a small town they stopped. Poodle dropped from behind, and vaulted upon a fence, looking as rustic as he could. Mr. P. J. Jolls climbed stiffly out of the car, his fat legs objecting to exercise; and said to Poodle: “Say, boy, where’s Smith’s Livery-Stable?” “I dunno, sir; I don’t belong in this here town,” Poodle drawled as ignorantly as possible. Mr. Jolls looked at him with haughty scorn, and trotted down the street. To Jolls’ chauffeur Poodle said: “What’s the trouble with you and the old man? What’s he dropping you for, and taking to a livery-stable? My, you must be a bum shuffer. If I was driving a man and he ditched me—” “Ditched nobody,” growled the chauffeur. “I’m to wait. I suppose if _you_ was chauffeur you’d be so good he just couldn’t lose you,” Jolls’ driver sneered in a highly superior manner. “You go eat your hat,” ordered Poodle, very impudently perhaps, and dropped on the further side of the fence to escape the wrench which the chauffeur was going to throw at him. He strolled through the little town, and watched Mr. Jolls groaningly hoist himself up on horseback, and ride painfully away. Then Poodle’s loafing manner disappeared. Holding out a gold piece, he said to Smith of Smith’s Stables, “Give me your best saddle-horse. Quick. But without a saddle. And I want that big straw-hat, there on the wall.” The proprietor started to quiz him, but Poodle abruptly, curtly, cried, “Quick, I said. This five bucks is for you.” As soon as he was out of the stable-yard, Poodle pulled off his shoes and socks and tucked them under his coat. He pulled his straw-hat down on his head. Then he loped round a corner, and was soon going at a lazy country pace, along the dusty, hot road, behind Mr. P. J. Jolls. He stuck out his bare feet, and slouched all over his horse’s back. Jolls took only one look back at him, then paid no further attention.