JERRY EXPLAINS
“Sit still!” yelled Ned, grasping his chum by the arm.
“But we’re going to smash, I tell you!”
Bob sank back in his seat with a thud, for Ned had forcibly pulled him
by the coat.
“Look out!” yelled Andy, adding his alarm to the others.
“Eh? What is it? Oh, another car!” cried Jerry, and, for the first time,
he seemed to be aware that there was danger from his thoughtlessness in
taking the wrong side of the road.
The driver of the other car sent out a strident blast from his electric
siren, and crowded his machine as far over to the other side as
possible. But a high bank afforded very little leeway.
“Look out where you’re going!” the chauffeur yelled, his angry voice
accentuating the warning of the horn.
Jerry Hopkins seemed to come to life in an instant. His absent-mindedness
left him in a flash, and his strong hands turned the steering wheel
rapidly.
So suddenly did he shift the direction of his car that it skidded, and,
for an instant slid along on two tires. Then, with another quick shift
of the wheel, the steersman brought it back on the proper course.
The two machines passed safely, but, so narrow was the space between
them, the thickness of one’s hand would have sufficed to fill it.
Then, in a swirl of dust, the other machine passed on, the dirt-cloud
serving to hide the indignant glances of the occupants. Jerry brought
his car to a stop with a whine of the hastily-applied brakes.
“Say, I didn’t see that fellow coming,” declared Jerry, turning to
speak to his chums in the tonneau.
“You didn’t see him!” cried Ned. “Why, he was right in front of you,
and on the proper side of the road, too. You were off. Say, what’s the
matter with you Jerry, anyhow?”
The tall lad did not answer for a moment. Instead, he slowly got down
out of the car, and walked over to a spring that bubbled out of a rock
at the side of the road.
“Wait until I get a drink,” he said. “I’m dry.”
Ned and Bob looked at one another.
“What do you make of it?” asked Ned, in a low voice, as Jerry leaned
over to drink.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” was the answer of the stout lad. “He’s been
acting queer and absent-minded for the last few days. He seems to be
worrying about something.”
“I wonder what it can be?” ventured Ned.
“Let’s ask him,” suggested Bob. “Maybe we can help him.”
They spoke in louder tones now, for Andy, who had been sitting beside
Jerry, had also alighted to get a drink at the spring.
“Maybe he wouldn’t want us ‘butting-in,’” remarked Ned.
“Well, something’s got to be done,” declared Bob, with a sigh. “I’m not
going to ride, and have him steer like that. He nearly ran over a dog a
while back, and now he almost sends us into another car. Something sure
is wrong. Jerry has something on his mind, and we ought to offer to
help him.”
“Well, maybe we ought,” responded Ned, thoughtfully.
And while the two chums are thus debating as to whether or not they
ought to interfere sufficiently in Jerry’s affairs to offer to help
him, I will take a few moments to tell my new readers something of the
boys and of the previous books in this series in which my heroes have
figured.
Bob Baker, son of Andrew Baker, a rich banker; Ned Slade, whose father,
Aaron Slade, was the proprietor of a large department store; and Jerry
Hopkins, the only son of a well-to-do widow, were the three “motor
boys” with whom we are concerned. They lived in the town of Cresville,
not far from Boston, and had been chums and companions ever since they
were youngsters. They had been “lost” together, they had played ball on
the vacant lots, they had gone swimming and fishing in one another’s
company, and, when they grew older, they went bicycling together.
It was the bicycles that gained for them the name “motor boys,” for it
was through the winning of a bicycle race that one of them gained a
motorcycle as a prize, and in the first book of the series, entitled
“The Motor Boys,” you may read of this thrilling contest.
But the motor boys were not content with one motorcycle, nor with
winning one race. They obtained an automobile, and made a thrilling
trip overland, afterward going to Mexico, where they located a buried
city, coming home across the great plains.
Many and thrilling were the adventures our friends had on land, and not
a few dangers encompassed them, some being due to the evil doings of
Noddy Nixon and Bill Berry, two bad characters.
But action ashore was not sufficient for the motor boys. They were
able to obtain a motor boat, and in the fifth volume of this series,
entitled “The Motor Boys Afloat,” is related their adventures in that
staunch craft. They had strenuous times on the Atlantic, in the strange
waters of the Florida Everglades, and on the Pacific.
As might be expected, having, in a manner, conquered the problems of
the land in their automobile, and of the water in their motor boat, the
boys sighed, like Alexander, for new worlds. They found one in the air,
and though they themselves were a little doubtful of their ability to
navigate an aeroplane they did not hesitate to try.
In the ninth book, “The Motor Boys in the Clouds,” I had the pleasure
of relating to you their adventures in their motorship. They flew over
the Rockies, and over a part of the ocean, and again, taking wing, they
went in search of a lost fortune.
Hovering over the border between the United States and Canada, the
motor boys were able to help Uncle Sam capture some daring smugglers,
and hardly had they finished that thrilling work than new activities
presented themselves. The volume immediately preceding this one is
entitled “The Motor Boys Under the Sea.”
While out in their motorship _Comet_, one day, the boys saw floating on
the waters of Massachusetts Bay a strange object which at first they
thought was a whale. It turned out to be a submarine, however, and when
the boys encountered it, later, in a terrific storm, and were taken
aboard the strange craft, being kept virtually prisoners, they realized
that they were about to pass through some strange scenes.
Whether they did or not I will leave to the decision of those of you
who have read the book. Suffice it to say that, eventually, Dr. Klauss,
the commander of the submarine, though endeavoring in his insane fury
to make an end of them all, was overpowered, and our friends reached
safety.
A winter of comparative inactivity followed the lively times in the
submarine, and now spring had come once more. The motor boys had
made no plans for their vacation, but they had talked, more or less
indefinitely, of a long trip to be taken, partly by auto, and partly
aboard their new motor boat. Nothing had been settled, however.
The three, having no other engagement this Saturday afternoon, had gone
to the ball game, for Cresville boasted of a good semi-professional
team, and it was on their way back from this contest that I have
introduced my new readers to them.
“I’m going to make the break, and ask Jerry what ails him,” decided
Ned, as he watched his tall chum straighten up after taking a long
drink at the spring.
“Yes, maybe it will be best,” assented Bob. “He surely isn’t himself.
He’s been acting queerly for nearly a week. He seems to be in a sort of
dream.”
“That’s right,” agreed Ned. “Well, maybe he won’t like me ‘butting-in’
on him, but we’ve been chums too long to stand off, and not help him
when he needs it.”
Andy Rush, who had begged a ride with the three friends, had just run
down the road in pursuit of a rabbit, so he was not within sound of the
voices of the three chums. Andy was an excitable chap, who never did
any one thing very long at a time. He was rather a “fly-away,” but Ned,
Bob and Jerry liked him for all that.
“Feel better?” asked Ned, as his tall chum approached.
“Yes, that was fine water. But there wasn’t anything the matter with
me,” replied Jerry, quickly, as he sensed Ned’s words. “What do you
mean?”
“What do I mean? Well, Jerry, old man,” spoke Ned, “it’s evident to
both Bob and me that something is wrong with you. It isn’t like you
to have such a near-collision as the one we just avoided, and also to
nearly run over a dog, as you did a while back, isn’t a bit like you.
Neither is it to see you so absent-minded.
“Now we don’t want to pry into your affairs, Jerry,” went on Ned, with
a look at Bob, “but if we can help you--why, you know we’re only too
willing. Is there anything we can do?”
“For we’re sure something’s wrong,” put in Bob. “Suppose we go to that
restaurant in Blairtown and eat. I can always talk better when I eat,”
added Bob, innocently enough.
“The same old Chunky,” murmured Jerry, with a smile. Then his manner
grew more serious.
“Understand!” exclaimed Ned, quickly, as he noted the change in his
chum’s face, “we don’t want to ‘butt-in,’ but we would like to help
you. Are you in trouble, Jerry? Noddy Nixon isn’t bothering you again;
is he? And Dr. Klauss hasn’t turned up again with his submarine; has
he?”
“No! Oh, no! It isn’t anything as serious as that,” and Jerry smiled.
“Well?” spoke Ned, questioningly.
Jerry hesitated for a moment, and looked up and down the road, as
though to make sure no one could hear what he was going to say.
“Fellows,” began the tall lad, “I sure do appreciate your interest in
my affairs. And I don’t consider it ‘butting-in,’ either. I suppose I
have been acting queerly, the last few days, but----”
“Queerly! I should say you had!” cried Ned. “It’s all right, old man,”
he added, with a laugh, “no offense you know, but if you call it
‘queer’ to nearly smash us up a couple of times, I guess we’ll agree
with you. Now then, out with it, and if we can help you, why, you know
you don’t have to ask twice. Let her go, as Andy Rush would say,” and
he glanced toward that distant youth.
“Well, I don’t know that it’s so very important, or serious,” resumed
Jerry. “But, the truth of the matter is, I’ve been doing a lot of
hard thinking of late, and I suppose it’s that which has made me seem
absent-minded.”
“There wasn’t any ‘seeming’ about it,” put in Bob. “It was the real
article.”
“Yes, I guess it was,” admitted Jerry. “I really couldn’t tell you,
now, who won that ball game, and as for nearly running into that auto,
I didn’t see it until the last second. I was thinking of something
else.”
“Of what?” asked Ned.
“Well, business matters,” explained Jerry. “You know my mother owns
considerable property. Some of it is real estate, and more is in bonds
and mortgages. Of late some of her investments have turned out poorly.”
“That’s too bad!” exclaimed Ned. “She ought to see my father. He might
help her.”
“Oh, well, I don’t think it is as serious as all that,” said Jerry.
“But she thinks she will have to sell some of her real estate, and
there’s where the tangle comes in.”
“I don’t see what sort of a tangle it can be,” spoke Ned. “We all know
her land is quite valuable.”
“That’s just it,” exclaimed Jerry. “If she had received an offer for
some of her town lots, or for some of her other real estate holdings
that plainly show their worth, I wouldn’t think so much of it. But it’s
about that old strip of swamp land she owns.”
“What, down in Ryson’s swamp?” asked Ned, in surprise.
“That’s the place,” answered Jerry. “She owns quite a strip there,
and Noddy Nixon’s father owns lands on one side, and someone else on
the other. Mother’s land is a sort of narrow tongue between two other
parcels. She never thought it was worth anything, but the other day she
received an offer for it, and at a price that made her open her eyes,
though relatively it wasn’t so much.”
“Well, I don’t see any bad luck in that,” remarked Bob. “If she can get
a good price for the land, why doesn’t she take it?”
“That’s just the point,” resumed Jerry. “Why should such a comparatively
high price be offered for such seemingly worthless land? It’s that which
has me guessing, fellows. I’m trying to find out what the underlying
motive is, and that’s what made me so absent-minded of late. Now, I’ve
told you!”