PLANS FOR THE BIG RACE
Quite likely it was because they were so completely engrossed with the
intended search of the Ship woods--the main item in the plan they had
discussed for many months, that the Auto Boys had thus far given the
Gold Cup races little heed. Casually they had mentioned among themselves
the circumstances that the western boundary of the woods was not many
miles from the scene of the great stock car contests, but that was all.
Beside the campfire they kindled close to the dashing, woodland stream,
however, the subject was suggested by an item in a city newspaper
purchased in one of the small towns on the day's run. The final laying
out of the twenty-six-mile course, it now appeared, had brought one
corner of the irregular circuit to within a few miles of the great
forest. The general headquarters would be in Queensville, only a
half-hour's ride beyond.
"We'll just slip over there of a morning now and then and watch the
practice work," proposed Phil. He brought his open right hand down like
a small pile driver upon his left wrist at the same moment, not by way
of emphasis, but in deadly attack upon a mosquito.
"And go to the races? Sure!" put in Billy Worth, asking and answering
the question all in one breath. "Wonder we never realized how near
Queensville we'd be!"
"Yes, we'll let the race meet upset all our plans and we'll go home with
nothing to show for the whole trip," muttered MacLester, with a
tremendous yawn.
Jones came up with a lot of green weeds, twigs and leaves for the fire
just in time to hear Dave's comment. He dropped the armful on the blaze,
producing a smoky "smudge" as protection from mosquitoes, and sat
himself down cross-legged upon the ground. Then very deliberately--
"David, I really think you better go to bed," he said. "You're tired and
cross. Go to bed, so as to wake up early in the morning and hear the
birds sing," he added soberly.
"Possibly I _am_ somewhat fatigued," was the cutting response, "and
being so, you will kindly pardon me if I don't tear any buttons off
laughing at such a positively brilliant witticism."
Paul grinned his appreciation of this thrust but before he could answer,
Phil Way broke in: "Why, no! The races needn't interfere with our plans
at all. Who knows but what a day or two will end the whole expedition so
far as anything the woods contains is concerned? We wouldn't want to
hike back right away! We're after fun as much as anything, aren't we?"
"And the most fun I can think of right this minute is to get some
sleep," Dave replied. Then with a cushion from the car for a pillow he
stretched out upon his blanket. "Happy day when we get the tent up and
go into camp right, about to-morrow night," he said, as if to himself.
And if there was a note of irritation in his tone it was because he
_was_ very tired. Dave was a trifle gloomy and occasionally the least
bit sour by disposition; but in this instance it must be remembered that
he had been at the wheel of the Thirty all day; also, that the rest of
all the boys had been much disturbed the night before.
"Really believe I am '_somewhat fatigued_,' myself," chirped Paul, a few
minutes later, gay and lively to the very last. For scarcely had he
added: "Gee! This is a _downy_ couch!--Down about a foot too far!" than
he dropped off sound asleep on his blanket spread over the grass.
Billy and Phil were not long in following the example of the other two
and presently the only sound to break the silence was the tinkle of
bells where some sheep were feeding in a pasture across the little
stream.
Tired humanity finds rest and comfort even on the bare ground when more
conventional beds are not obtainable. Yet Dave was right. Another night,
when a permanent camp had been established, might easily show a marked
improvement in the lads' situation. Not but that all four were happy and
contented just as they were! Any one of them would have asserted
emphatically that he was having a fine time. But--confidentially--a nice
dreamy nap on the soft grass beneath some tree on a warm afternoon is
one thing, and sleeping all night on the ground is another. Even the
Auto Boys, in strictest confidence, mind you, would have admitted it.
Time was that, when sleeping out, whether in the open as on this
occasion, or in the hillside hut of Gleason's Ravine, the boys found
themselves subject to a certain degree of nervousness. The distant
shriek of a locomotive whistle on the still night air might cause any or
all of them to start into partial or complete wakefulness, uncertain
whether the sound was not a human voice. The heavy barking of a dog far
away, yet in the silence and the darkness seeming very close, was apt to
produce a similar effect. The certain conviction that the sounds came
nearer, being directed, indeed, straight toward the camp, easily
impressed itself upon high-strung imaginations.
A considerable variety of experience of this character is common to most
camping parties whose members have seldom slept with no roof but the
sky, or none but a bit of canvas, at the most. It would not do to say
they are caused by timidity. But rather they are the result of
surroundings wholly unlike those to which body and mind have been
accustomed.
But there are delights in sleeping out of doors which those who have
never experienced them can scarcely imagine. Even though the couch be
"downy" after the manner Paul Jones described, there are compensations.
Of course there must be sufficient covering to keep one warm, and a roof
of some kind when it rains. With these provided, soft mattresses may
well be dispensed with. The company of the stars, the good, fresh air,
the music of the breeze in the branches above--these and much more will
be bountiful recompense.
Every one of the Auto Boys would have endorsed these remarks and with
enthusiasm, I am sure. Dave may have wished for a bed in an established
camp rather than the one he had on the bare ground. They would all have
voted for that. A pillow, even though made of a blanket-end spread over
fresh pine twigs or clean, freshly gathered grass, beats an automobile
cushion as a head-rest. This no one would deny. And if the established
camp means one thing, and the roadside resting place the other, it is
very well to choose the former.
The degree of comfort is the only question. The delights of out-of-doors
exist as certainly one way as another. Thus, for instance, in either
situation, are the stars, whether they look down in the tranquillity of
a calm, still night, or through broken, storm-tossed clouds, most
excellent and interesting company.
Now the whole purpose of this digression from the story is to make clear
the _reason_ back of the simple statement that the Auto Boys slept
soundly. Notwithstanding their strange surroundings and their lack of a
permanent camp's greater comforts, they passed the night in unbroken
rest. If they awakened at any time it was merely to turn over and fall
asleep again. If in the interim they noted, drowsily, the stars still
bright, the sky still clear and the promise of fine weather to-morrow,
it was merely this and nothing more. The apprehensions that at one time
would have come to them that possibly danger lurked in the deeper
shadows they rarely if ever experienced now.
And let no one suppose it is not something of a trial to desert one's
snug resting place upon the ground in the morning, quite as much as it
is to leave a soft, warm bed indoors. The temptation to indulge in just
one more little snooze of five minutes, ten minutes or whatever time one
thinks he might possibly allow himself, is quite the same. Complete
wakefulness and ambition return more quickly in the open air and
buoyancy of spirit is usually greater--that is all.
With the responsibility of breakfast on his shoulders Billy Worth was
the first astir. The sun was well up and all the woodland was merry with
the songs of birds. Robins piped musically from the old rail fence.
Bobolinks, jays, bluebirds, chattering blackbirds and even crows added
their voices to the odd combinations of melody. In some not distant
pasture a boy was calling loudly as he drove up the cows.
Into the cool, clear brook where the swift current eddied among some
stones, Billy plunged hands and arms elbow deep. He dashed the water
over his face with a half-shiver and ran to the towel left hanging over
night on the steering wheel.
"You fellows going to get up?" he inquired abruptly.
"Yep! Right away!" came the response from Phil, and with a reluctant
sigh he sat up and looked about him. From Dave and Paul came no answer.
"I'm going to get a bucket of water at the creek. I'll be back here in
about a minute, and anybody who's not up is going to get ducked! So
there's fair warning!" announced Mr. Worth. There was a note of
determination in his voice.
Maybe Billy even hoped the two still stretched snugly in their blankets
would fail to take him at his word. He would soon show them whether he
meant what he said or not, he thought. But by the time he reached the
brook Dave rose slowly and stretched himself. Seeing this, young Mr.
Worth lost no time.
Half filling the small bucket, he raced back to camp. The distance was
only a few yards. Two more quick steps and he would have reached the
prostrate Paul; but suddenly as if shot from a gun that young gentleman
leaped to his feet.
"Just saved _yourself_!" laughed Worth, making a move with the bucket as
if he thought a little cold water judiciously applied might be a good
thing anyway.
"Well, you want to remember that I gathered all the stuff for the smudge
last night, and I need my rest," said Jones with a half injured air but
with a sly smile, too.
"Well, that's so! Five minutes' work does quite exhaust some people,"
Billy returned with friendly sarcasm. "If you could possibly wiggle a
little firewood up this way and Phil will get the grub out while Dave
puts the blankets and things away, I'll see if we can't have a light
collation in the shape of breakfast."
Way was already kindling the fire with the remnants of last night's fuel
supply. Paul acted upon instructions with reasonable alacrity and a fine
bed of coals was ready by the time the bacon was in one frying-pan and
several large potatoes, washed, peeled and sliced, were in another.
Coffee and bread and butter completed the menu, and as a fine appetite
is another of the delights of open air living, the call to breakfast
was answered a great deal more promptly than Chef Billy's earlier call
to get up had been.
So was another day begun. So a little later was the Thirty again
measuring off the hard, smooth clay of the road while the bright June
sun and pleasant breezes combined to set off most delightfully every one
of nature's early summer charms.
For mile upon mile the Auto Boys' route was bordered by rich pastures,
waving meadows and the cultivated fields of a fine farming country. The
wheat was coming into head. The oats marked the long, parallel lines of
the drills like millions of tiny soldiers in green uniforms massed
regiment upon regiment. Farmers, their sons and their hired men were
busy with cultivators and with hoes in many a field where the young corn
was starting off vigorously, as if having particularly in mind that
growth expected of every good corn field, "knee high by Fourth of July,"
and meant to establish a new record.
Surely there's nothing to equal motoring as a means of seeing the
country. Not only are the constant change of landscape and constant
succession of new scenes which the railway traveler may enjoy, to be had
in an automobile but more--very much more.
The motorist gains a great deal that the railroad passenger inevitably
misses. For the man on the train the musical clang of the dinner bell as
one passes near some farmhouse, for instance, is lost--swallowed up in
the noise and rush of the locomotive. The sweet scent of the wild crab
apple can never make its presence known in the skurrying currents of air
sweeping constantly aside from and after the wheels of steel. And these
are but samples of countless impressions upon the senses the automobile
tourist experiences, which he who journeys by rail may meet only by rare
chance.
The difference is vast. The Auto Boys discussed the subject with keen
appreciation of their good fortune in owning a machine.
"Why!" said Billy Worth, "it amounts to the same thing as the
difference between pictures and actual life. You can lay eyes on a scene
like that young fellow plowing, over yonder, say, in any art store. You
can see the green of the grass and the brown of the ploughed land. See
the trees and the old rail fence in the background and the team of
horses and the driver. But it doesn't mean anything like as much as when
you can at the same time catch that smell of the ground just turned over
and hear that hired man calling out to his team. Hear him? Hear that
chap yonder, now?"
And through the air, rich with the fragrance of the freshly ploughed
earth came in lusty tones: "Ha-a-a-aw! Haw, there! Molly! You great big
haystack, why don't you ha-a-w?"
Certainly Billy was right.