IN THE RED CAR
Bright and early on the following morning, George Clayton and Aleck
Hunt were astir, and had their breakfast. Then they strolled leisurely
around the town, taking in the sights.
Newburgh is charmingly situated, and has many points of interest.
About half-past nine, the boys reached the garage, took their places in
the touring car, and, in a moment, were out on the busy street.
“Now for Poughkeepsie,” remarked George. “Weather doesn’t look very
promising--all gray and cloudy.”
“And last night was such a dandy,” sighed Aleck. “Say, we’re awfully
careless.”
“How?”
“Might have run plumb into that chauffeur.”
“Wouldn’t have bothered me in the least,” said George, calmly. “I made
up my mind to see Poughkeepsie, and I’m going,” and again he spoke in a
tone which indicated that he was accustomed to having his own way.
“Automobiling is a jolly fine sport, isn’t it?” said Aleck.
“Yes, when everything goes all right,” laughed George. “But I’ve seen
times when I thought it pretty stupid.”
“In what way?”
“Well--a busted tire; or something the matter with the machinery, and
nothing to keep you company but a lot of rocks and trees. Here’s the
post-office; I’ll stop and scribble a line to Uncle Dan.”
“And me for a postal card home,” said Aleck.
The writing was done in a remarkably short time, and the two were soon
driving along the principal street.
“I’m tired of dodging cars and wagons,” said George, at length. “We’ll
get out in the country and put on a bit of speed.”
“But don’t go so fast we can’t get a look at the scenery,” remarked
Aleck, who seemed to have developed a wonderful fondness for nature
during the last few hours.
George looked at him quizzically, but made no reply, and, within a
short time, the red touring car was flying swiftly through a rather
flat, open country dotted with farms.
The sky was dark and lowering; rain threatened to fall at any instant,
and, as the morning progressed, a breeze sprang up and the ominous look
of nature increased.
“We’re going to catch it,” grumbled George.
“In for a ducking, sure enough,” said Aleck. “It’s too bad.”
A few miles from Newburgh, a fine, steady drizzle set in and blew in
their faces, and not being provided with goggles, the boys found it
very unpleasant.
Now and then, they passed a village, and occasionally a farmer’s wagon
rattled slowly by.
“This is one of the times when automobiling is pretty dull sport,”
sighed George. “I wish now we were in the nice, comfortable cabin of
the ‘Gray Gull.’”
The drizzle gradually increased to a steady rain. All nature was wet,
and wore a dismal aspect.
As the rain beat relentlessly upon them, the boys’ spirits fell,
and they lapsed into silence, while the red touring car rolled off
mile after mile, passing farmhouses and small villages, where the
ever-present small dog rushed out to bark and snarl and risk his life
in front of the gliding monster.
On long, straight stretches, George drove as fast as he dared, and
Aleck, who was getting used to the sensation, made no protest, but, wet
and miserable, huddled back in an effort to protect himself from the
pelting rain.
“Well, I certainly am disgusted,” declared George, at length. “I
couldn’t be wetter--could you?”
“Not if the river was to roll up and spill all over me,” sighed Aleck,
ruefully. “Nice looking messes we are to go to Poughkeepsie. What shall
we do when we get there?”
“Leave the auto in a garage I know of; then wait for the ‘Gray Gull.’
She ought to be along by early evening.”
“Who’s going to take the auto back to Nyack?”
“Pierre, or myself. Remember, Aleck, it’s my machine.”
Another hour passed, and George uttered a sigh of satisfaction.
“Not much further, now,” he said. “See, there’s the Great Poughkeepsie
railroad bridge.”
“Gee whiz, it’s high and it’s long,” said Aleck, with interest. “Looks
pretty faint through the rain, doesn’t it?”
“Yes; and there’s a ferry-boat coming in. We’ll be just in time to get
across.”
The car glided upon the ferry-boat with just an instant to spare and
came to a stop behind a farmer’s wagon.
Had the day been pleasant, the two boys would have thoroughly enjoyed
the experience. Close by was the great railroad bridge, behind
them rose a line of picturesque hills, and across the river lay
Poughkeepsie, at the present moment quite hidden by rain and mist.
In a few moments, the ferry-boat was under way. The wind had kicked up
the surface of the gray, gloomy river into whitecapped waves, and the
boys could not help wondering how the “Gray Gull” was faring amidst
such a storm.
Gradually the buildings of the town became visible; then the ferry-boat
entered her slip, and the red touring car slowly followed the farmer’s
wagon into the street, and up the hill.
Main Street is a wide, pleasant thoroughfare lined on either side with
good-sized buildings, and, in spite of the stormy weather, presented a
busy appearance.
George kept to the side of the car track.
“Garage isn’t far,” he said. “And won’t I be glad to get there? If
Pierre knew about our trip, he’d have the laugh on us.”
“Yes, he would,” said Aleck, dismally.
“We’ll swing right around this corner, and----”
“Better let the car back of us pass,” interrupted Aleck.
George glanced over his shoulder.
“I’m too good a chauffeur to lose so much time,” he laughed, as he
turned the touring car and started to cross the track.
“Now I’ll----”
He stopped short and uttered an exclamation. With a suddenness that
jarred both boys, the automobile came to an abrupt halt, and the car
bearing down upon them was prevented from crashing into it only by the
quick and timely efforts of the motorman.
“Hey there! What are you about?” he yelled.
“Another pretty mess,” murmured George, with a rather dismal
expression. “I can’t make it budge.”
“Great Scott!” cried Aleck.
“Come now, get out of that!” continued the motorman, clanging his gong
loudly.
George, without replying, continued his efforts to send the automobile
ahead; but it stood across the track just as immovably as if its wheels
had never revolved.
A crowd of curious onlookers began to collect.
“Get a horse!” shouted some one.
“Step out and push,” chimed in another.
“Don’t you know any better than to block the cars?” said a third.
Suggestions and bantering remarks flew thick and fast, while George,
red in the face and fuming, jumped out and began to examine the
machinery.
Another car rolled up; wagons began to stop, and, in a few minutes,
the embarrassed boys began to think the whole population of
Poughkeepsie had assembled at that particular point.
“Try an aeroplane next time, boys,” said a tall, grave-looking man.
“Speak gently, and coax it,” laughed his companion.
“We’re twenty minutes late now,” growled the disgusted motorman,
approaching. “Things is comin’ to a pretty pass when youngsters is
allowed to run them things by theirselves. Hurry up, bub. Hey, you in
the car, why don’t you get out of that, and help your pard?”
“Fond of stayin’ out in de roin?” asked an urchin.
“I’m twenty minutes late now, an’----”
“It’ll be forty soon,” said the boy, in great glee.
“One--two--three cars back, and another coming,” said the motorman. “If
Bill Watson was here, he’d make that thing go.”
Considerably flustered at the commotion, George worked and perspired,
but not being an expert made no progress at all. With an obstinacy
that defied all his efforts, the motor refused to work, and Aleck, who
had jumped to the ground, looked at him in dismay.
“What’s to be done?” he whispered.
“I don’t know,” answered the other, blankly.
“Twenty-six and a half minutes late. I ain’t goin’ to stand this no
longer,” growled the motorman.
“You ain’t standing it; the auto’s doing that,” remarked some one.
In spite of the rain, a great crowd jostled and surged around the
stalled automobile. Seven cars stretched back in a line, and five
wagons had stopped.
“Git your shoulders to the thing an’ push it over to the side,”
commanded the motorman. “Never could see no sense in ’em, anyhow. Git
out from under there, bub--I’m twenty-nine minutes late a’ready.”
“Make it thirty and be done with it,” grumbled the disgusted George,
red in the face.
“No sass--I don’t take none.”
“Same here.”
“Jest listen at that, gents! He ain’t satisfied with tying up the
whole car line; but he hands out sass. Can you beat it?” and, with a
wave of his hand, the motorman appealed to the crowd.
“Quit your row, now,” broke in George, sharply.
“Me--makin’ a row? Well, did I ever hear sich talk? Thirty-one an’ a
half minutes late! Any more of that sass comin’?”
“Do you think I stopped here on purpose?”
“Wal, you’ll git out on purpose. Now I----”
“What’s the trouble here?” exclaimed an authoritative voice.
A policeman pushed his way forward. Then, as his eyes rested on the
number of the automobile, he uttered an exclamation.
“Just the one we’re looking for,” he said, eagerly. “Where are the
fellows running it?”
“Right here,” said the motorman. “Cap, I’m thirty-four minutes late,
an’ that there----”
“Hey! Nab those two chaps!” roared the policeman, ducking around the
car.
But George Clayton had quickly taken in the situation.
The hot blood mounted to his face, as he thought of being actually
detained, and he determined to outwit the authorities, regardless of
his automobile and everything else.
With a hurried, “Come ahead, Aleck,” he dashed headlong out of the
crowd, and made for a side street, while Aleck instantly followed.
The crowd seemed to melt, and the lusty shouts of the policeman urged
the boys on.
Thoroughly aroused, George and Aleck put on a terrific burst of speed,
and easily distanced the foremost of their pursuers. They were just as
successful in dodging several who tried to head them off.
Up one street and down another the boys raced, with several street curs
barking and snapping at their heels.
When they came to a pause, it was by the side of a lumber yard. The
high piles served as a protection from the rain, and the two, breathing
hard, leaned against the fence, and looked anxiously for any signs of
their pursuers.
“Some excitement, eh?” gasped George, when he had recovered his breath
sufficiently to speak.
“I should say so,” panted Aleck, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“Whew! Maybe we haven’t had a time of it. But say, how about your auto?”
“That part of it doesn’t bother me,” answered George, with a calmness
that surprised his companion. “The authorities are bound to take care
of it. Gee whiz--it made my blood boil when I thought of being held in
this place until Uncle Dan, or perhaps Pierre, should straighten things
out. Just think of it.”
“I did think of it,” said Aleck. “That’s the reason I ran so fast.
Don’t believe we’re safe in this place.”
“Nor I, either.”
“What shall we do?”
“Look out for the ‘Gray Gull’; and make Jack Lyons sail right away from
Poughkeepsie.”
“We’ll have some hours to wait.”
“Well, we can go to some small restaurant and get a bite to eat.
Jiminy, I’d like to know what they have done with the auto,” and George
laughed.
“Wonder what was the matter with it?”
“Don’t know, I’m sure.”
“We’d better get along.”
“That’s right. And keep far away from Main Street. Gee! My little trip
has certainly raised the dickens; and all on account of Pierre Dufour’s
stupidity.”
Slowly and cautiously the two walked to the corner, and seeing nothing
but a deserted street, started briskly off, keeping a watchful eye
open for any signs of danger. Half an hour later, they entered a small
restaurant near the river front, and enjoyed the best in the house.
The meal and a long rest put them in better spirits again, and when
they walked outside it was to see that the rain had stopped enough to
allow a patch of blue sky to show between the slowly moving clouds.
“This is a bit better,” remarked George, with satisfaction; “but I
wish it had stopped before it began. Where shall we go? Why, down by
the river, I guess. Your legs tired? It’s a good thing you can’t feel
mine--no Marathons for me.”
The boys continued their walk, never going very far from the river. On
the outskirts of the city, they came across an old man sitting on a
log, puffing contentedly away on a short pipe. Close by his side was a
shaggy dog.
The old fellow looked up as the two approached. His face, bronzed a
deep brown, was seamed with wrinkles, but his eyes were kindly and a
smile curled his lips.
“Afternoon, youngsters,” he said, cheerfully.
“How are you?” replied George and Aleck, almost in a breath.
“Fair to middlin’. Me name’s Bill Hollback.”
“Glad to hear it,” said George, politely.
“An’ me father’s name was Bill Hollback; his father’s name was Bill
Hollback; an’ hisn, too, was Bill Hollback. Kinder curious, eh?”
“Very.”
“An’ that ain’t all; me son’s name is Bill Hollback.”
“I hope they are all well and happy,” said George.
“Hey?”
“That is--of course, I mean you and young Bill.”
“Oh, yes; fair to middlin’. This here dog’s name is Sailor.”
“That’s a nice name.”
“Yes--fair to middlin’. That there skiff ye see out there is mine;
gived to me by the finest man you ever see--lives over to Ticketwood
house.”
“A nice boat,” said Aleck. “The ‘Lottie,’ eh?”
“Yes--fair to middlin’ name. I’ve sailed a bit in me life. What’s
that--will I hire me boat? Say that again, youngster--will I hire me
boat?”
“That’s what I asked,” said George, smilingly. “Eh, Aleck, we’ll go
back to meet the ‘Gray Gull.’ Say, why can’t we?”
“Suits me to a dot.”
“Then let’s start right off. Come on, Mr. Hollback; we’ll have a jolly
nice sail,” and George walked over to the edge of a rickety wharf.
Old Bill and his dog arose.
“You have spoke the cheerfulest words I’ve hearn fur a long spell,” he
said. “‘Will I hire me boat?’ Them words don’t sound nateral. Would ye
mind sayin’ them again?” and Old Bill chuckled mirthfully, as George
complied.
Old Bill Hollback was a good sailor and knew how to get the benefit of
all the breeze that was stirring, and the “Lottie” was soon standing
out from the wharf.
Vivid patches of blue sky showed in many places, and the sunlight
streamed through the openings. The afternoon and evening promised to be
delightful.
The “Lottie” was a speedy boat, and the stiff breeze filled out her
sail; and, now and then, her bow, plunging into the whitecapped waves,
sent a sheet of spray flying over the gunwale.
“Yes,” said Old Bill, “I spent many a year on the water; once made a
voyage to China. All the Hollbacks was sailors. Me father’s name was
Bill, and his father’s name----”
“Did you like China?” interrupted George, hastily.
“Fair to middlin’. Somebody hailin’ us, ain’t there?”
“Yes, over on that wharf.”
“We’ll p’int her in a bit, an’ see what he wants.”
“Hello, Bill Hollback!” came a loud voice. “Hello!”
“Me eyes ain’t so good; but I knows his voice,” said Old Bill. “He
belongs to the perlice.”
George and Aleck exchanged swift glances.
“I’ve done bits o’ work fur ’im; onct helped ’im run down a gang o’
river thieves----”
“Hello, Bill Hollback!” yelled the man on the wharf again. “Keep your
eyes skinned for a house-boat with a parcel of boys aboard. It’s coming
up the river.”
“Ye see,” chuckled Old Bill, “them perlice needs me ag’in.”