"I hope you skid into a ditch!" Mooney bawled into the icy air. He was in a fury. There was a bus line that went where they wanted to go. A warm, comfortable bus that would stop for them if they signaled, that would drop them just where they wanted to be, to convert one of Harse's ball-bearings into money. The gold one, Mooney planned. Not the diamond, not the pearl. Just a few dollars was all they wanted, in this Jersey shore area where the towns were small and the gossip big. Just the price of fare into New York, where they could make their way to Tiffany's. But the bus cost thirty-five cents apiece. Total, seventy cents. Which they didn't have. "Here comes another. Car?" Mooney dragged back the corners of his lips into another smile and held out his thumb. It was a panel truck, light blue, with the sides lettered: _Chris's Delicatessen. Free Deliveries._ The driver slowed up, looked them over and stopped. He leaned toward the right-hand window. He called: "I can take you far's Red Ba--" He got a good look at Mooney's companion then and swallowed. Harse had put on an overcoat because Mooney insisted on it and he wore a hat because Mooney had told him flatly there would be trouble and questions if he didn't. But he hadn't taken off his own silvery leotard, which peeped through between neck and hat and where the coat flapped open. "--ank," finished the driver thoughtfully. Mooney didn't give him a chance to change his mind. "Red Bank is just where we want to go. Come on!" Already he had his hand on the door. He jumped in, made room for Harse, reached over him and slammed the door. "Thank you very much," he said chattily to the driver. "Cold morning, isn't it? And that was some storm last night. Say, we really do appreciate this. Anywhere in Red Bank will be all right to drop us, anywhere at all." He leaned forward slightly, just enough to keep the driver from being able to get a really good look at his other passenger. It would have gone all right, it really would, except that just past Fair Haven, Harse suddenly announced: "It is the time for me to. Eat?" * * * * * He snip-snapped something around the edges of the gleaming sort of dispatch case, which opened. Mooney, peering over his shoulder, caught glimpses of shiny things and spinning things and things that seemed to glow. So did the driver. "Hey," he said, interested, "what've you got there?" "My business," said Harse, calmly and crushingly. The driver blinked. He opened his mouth, and then he shut it again, and his neck became rather red. Mooney said rapidly: "Say, isn't there--uh--isn't there a lot of snow?" He feigned fascination with the snow on the road, leaning forward until his face was nearly at the frosty windshield. "My gosh, I've never seen the road so snowy!"