Perry broke into song and Han into a tuneless whistle that seemed to give him a deal of satisfaction.

They soon found a main-travelled road and, after fixing the turn-off in their minds, wheeled to the left.
"It would be a fine joke if we couldn't find the dingey again," chuckled Han.
"I think you've got a punk idea of humour," responded Perry.

"Anyway, all we'd have to do is find the beach and keep along until we barked our skins on the boat.

Bet you, though, this pesky fog will be gone in an hour." The road left the shore presently and the travellers found that the fog was thinner and sometimes lifted entirely over small spaces, and it wasn't long before they stopped to take off their jackets and swing them across their arms.

Possibly they passed houses, but they saw none, and the only incident occurred when the sound of wheels came to them from the highway ahead and, presently, a queer, old-fashioned two-wheeled chaise drawn by a piebald, drooping-eared horse passed slowly from the mist ahead to the mist behind.