The Hitchhiker

John Henderson was driving home late last night from an exhausting business trip. He had put off visiting the company's new headquarters in order to get home before midnight, and now he was having trouble staying awake. He turned up the radio and tried to concentrate on the news-something about a robbery-but his eyes kept on closing. His wife was back home in Dayton, and he missed having her company on this long trip.

It was then that he noticed the hitchhiker at the side of the road. Without even thinking about what he was doing, he slowed down and stopped the car. He couldn't help feeling sorry for the young man who looked so wet and miserable in the rain. "Get in," he said.

John remembered having to hitchhike home from the university before he had a car. He couldn't stand sitting at the side of the road for hours, waiting for rides.

The hitchhiker got in and immediately John was sorry that he had picked him up. The young man had a strange face and very penetrating eyes. His clothes were old and dirty, and his long hair needed cutting. The hitchhiker lit a cigarette and said he was going to Woodsville but when John asked him other questions, the young man avoided giving him any personal information and changed the subject.

John began to sweat and his thoughts turned nervously to his wallet and all the money he was carrying. He desperately tried to remember what the newscaster had said earlier about a robbery. Don't be ridiculous! He thought to himself. Stop imagining things! This guy isn't a criminal. What's the use of panicking

Even though he had quit smoking three months before, John felt like having a cigarette. He asked his passenger for one but before lighting it, he had to wait for his hands to stop shaking. At the next small town John stopped the car and said, "I just can't seem to stay awake. I think I'll try and find a hotel and spend the night here." He apologized nervously to the hitchhiker for not being able to drive him to Woodsville.

The young man slowly reached into his pocket. "This is it!" thought John. "I'm a dead man." At that very moment he considered shouting for help, but instead of a gun or a knife, the hitchhiker pulled out several wrinkled bills and offered them to John. "Oh, no. I don't want your money. Just get out, Okay?"

The young man looked puzzled, but insisted on giving John the money—$500. "My father is John Baresford, the oil millionaire, you see," he said. "Thanks for taking me this far."

John waited until his passenger had disappeared from sight, then he stepped on the gas and drove out of town. He was looking forward to getting home. Martha will never believe this! He thought to himself.