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Across the road a narrow side street, scarcely wider than a lane, according to Rodney’s notions, ran briskly downhill until it passed from sight. Rodney at once eliminated that thoroughfare from his calculations. Rather than strike downward and have to climb that hill again he would stay just where he was and starve to death. Not, however, that there was any immediate danger of that contingency, for he had managed to eat a particularly hearty meal some three hours since in the big dining saloon of the steamer. But three hours is three hours, and any normal, healthy boy can look with favor on food after a fast of that duration. So he produced a piece of sweet chocolate from a pocket, removed the tin-foil with some difficulty, since the warmth of the day had softened the delicacy to a condition of mushiness, and looked about him for a place to rest and refresh himself. A few feet farther along a big granite horseblock stood at the edge of the sidewalk—with a narrow gate in the fence behind, but he didn’t notice that—and so he sat himself comfortably down on it and proceeded to nibble. It was perceptibly cooler up here on the hill, for he was almost at the summit of the ridge that paralleled the river for many miles, and a fresh breeze was blowing along the shady street. It was still only—he looked at his watch—only ten minutes after three and he had nearly two hours of freedom yet, if he wanted it. He sighed contentedly.