Hazelton was disinclined to talk.

Bayliss' nerves were too shattered for him to feel like indulging in conversation.

Dodge, white-faced, his cap pulled well down over his eyes, showed all that he knew about running a car carefully and as speedily as was possible over such rough roads.
It was after two o'clock in the morning when the car turned into the stretch of Main Street, Gridley.
"We'll go to the police station with the fearful news," proposed Bert Dodge.
"No, we won't," retorted Hazelton.

"We'll go to the 'Blade' office.
Mr.Pollock, the editor, is one of Dick's best friends, and he'll know better than anyone else in town what ought to be done." So with hands that trembled Bert drove the car up in front of the "Morning Blade" office.

All three leaped out, Dodge and Bayliss eager to get into the glow of lights and among human beings.
As Harry's feet struck the sidewalk he remembered his character as a wounded man and tried to totter up the steps in a realistic fashion.
In the "Blade" building the press was rumbling busily as the inside pages of the paper were being run off.
Mr.Pollock, all alone in the editorial part of the plant, looked up in astonishment as the ghastly-hued Dodge and Bayliss appeared.
The editor's feeling turned to consternation when he saw Hazelton's seemingly pitiable condition.
"Hazelton, what can have happened ?" gasped the editor, leaping to his feet.
"Take me into another room!" pleaded Harry.