CHAPTER XXV_The Rambler Club's motor car

JOE’S CHANCE

Captain Bunderley, assuming charge of the Joe Rodgers case, a cause

celebre on account of Judge Hampton’s participation in it, within a few

days had received the following letter from a small village in Iowa:

“DEAR SIR:--

“In regards to Joe Rodgers, my wife says if you can do better for him

than Mr. Whiffin, and he can get some education, take the kid, and

welcome. I guess he don’t owe Whiffin nothing.

“Maybe Joe ought to have a chance, as you say. But circumstances

didn’t allow me to keep him, and knocking around the world ain’t good

for a boy.

“Hoping that when he learns to write he’ll send me a letter, I am,

“Respectfully yours,

“BEN HANKERSON.

“P. S. Of course I’ll expect to hear straight ahead how he’s getting

along.”

That same afternoon all parties concerned met in the magistrate’s

private office. Mr. Whiffin’s bellicose air had somewhat subsided,

partly due to the fact that he had consulted a lawyer and received no

encouragement.

“If I knew that the fat feller had made him run away I’d fight the case

to the end,” he confided to Mr. Spudger. “But, bein’ as the kid says

he didn’t--an’ he’s pretty straight goods regardin’ the truth--I guess

I’ll have to pass him up.”

“And, after all, Whiffin,” said Spudger, reflectively, “the boy will

get the chance he wants.”

“He sure could never make no animal tamer nor performer, an’ he ain’t

got the face for a ringmaster,” said Peter Whiffin. “No; it would be

the big wagon and long drives for him. Besides, the show business ain’t

what it used ter be.”

“There ain’t nothin’ what is,” said Mr. Spudger. “An’ I guess they said

the same thing a hundred years ago.”

Judge Hampton had been quietly consulting with the magistrate and

Captain Bunderley. Bluff and hearty, Captain Bunderley’s part in the

conference had not been quiet.

“It will be the best thing in the world for the boy,” he said. “He has

strength and ambition; and those are the only two things an American

boy needs to make him a success in life.”

“Mr. Whiffin”--the former judge turned toward the showman--“our

proposal is this: work will be found for Joe at Kingswood, Wisconsin,

and he will be given an opportunity to attend school. You, as a man of

the world, must know that this is the best thing to do.”

“I can’t fight ag’in a dozen,” answered Mr. Whiffin. “An’ I know that

the boy’s head will be so turned after all this fuss over him that he’d

never do a lick o’ work right ag’in.”

“By gum, I can’t hardly believe that sich good luck has come to me,”

said Joe.

“You kin begin to believe it right now,” remarked Mr. Spudger. “An’

don’t never forgit that you owe everything to Whiffin an’ me; because

if you hadn’t been with the show this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Yes, that’s quite true,” assented Captain Bunderley. “You do owe them

a great deal. Shake hands with your former employers, Joe. On such an

auspicious occasion for you there must be no ill-feeling.”

“That’s right,” assented Joe, heartily.

“I ain’t got none--not a bit of it,” said Mr. Peter Whiffin, extending

two bony fingers. “What riled me at first was to think that Brandon

should have inweigled him inter running off.”

“An’ Joe beating it without so much as leavin’ a card of regrets,”

growled Mr. Spudger.

“But as it’s all for the boy’s good, I’m game. Good luck, Joe.”

“Whiffin, you’re all right, twic’t!” exclaimed Joe Rodgers. “You’ll

find I’m goin’ to amount to somethin’, an’ we’ll always be frens.”

Yes, Joe Rodgers’ chance had come at last. Through his fortunate

meeting with Dave Brandon he would be able to gratify his ambition to

go to school.

“And I’m going to keep an eye on you,” exclaimed Captain Bunderley,

when they had taken leave of Judge Hampton and the circus men. “Before

many months are over you’ll find me turning up at the school. And if I

don’t hear a good account of you there’ll be trouble.”

“And just to think,” remarked Dave, reflectively, “that to-morrow we’ll

be leaving for our home in Kingswood! Seems funny, Bob, but I thought

this part of our trip would only add a few pages to my history. But----”

“It means a thousand, at least,” broke in Tom, with a laugh. “When it’s

finished it’ll be as long as an encyclopedia, and lots more exciting.”

The boys felt rather sober when the time came next morning to say

good-bye to Captain Bunderley and Victor Collins. Each had taken a

great fancy to the bluff old skipper, and, strangely enough, Victor

seemed to have become a very different sort of a boy from the one who

had begun the trip with them.

“Say, fellows,” he remarked, as he shook hands warmly with Bob Somers,

“you can count on seeing me again. I’m kind of curious to take a look

at that high school. I’ve found that you’re the kind of chaps who

improve on acquaintance. Dave is certainly a winner.”

“We’ll be delighted to see you, Vic,” returned Bob. “And perhaps

you’ll find that Kingswood isn’t such a slow place, after all.”

As long as the crowd was within sight of the hotel they saw Victor

standing on the steps waving his hand.

“The worst of traveling around like this,” said Tom, “is that you meet

a lot of fellows, and just as soon as you get to like them to beat the

band you have to say good-bye.”

“Yes, I noticed you liked Victor well enough at one time to want to hit

him on the eye,” exclaimed Blake. And this remark Tom passed by with

haughty silence.

Once more they were at the garage; and once more they jumped into the

car. The blasts of the horn which had grown so familiar to their ears

again warned the passers-by of their approach.

On the outskirts of the city, Tom, who was sitting behind Dave, touched

the stout boy on the shoulder.

“Look at Blake,” he exclaimed, in a low tone. “Honest--being with this

crowd has certainly done him a lot of good.”

The usually timid “grind” had exchanged places with Bob Somers and was

actually driving the car at a good clip along a street which was by

no means deserted. And, more than that, Blake looked as unconcerned as

though handling a big touring car was the easiest thing in the world.

“A few more months,” went on Tom, loftily, “and that yellow streak some

of the boys talked about couldn’t be found with a microscope.”

“That’s so,” admitted Dave. “All Charlie needs is a bit of

encouragement, and he will be a mighty useful member of our ball team.

What were you saying, Joe?”

“That I jist feel like yelling for all I’m worth.”

“Please don’t do it now,” laughed Dave. “I’m most uncommonly sleepy,

and this delightful motion is calling me to the land of nod.”

“Make the most of it, Dave,” cried Bob, from the front seat, “for the

Rambler Club’s motor car is taking us nearer and nearer to the place

where mighty little nodding can be done.”

“I know it,” drawled the stout boy, “and I shall assert my rights.”

In spite of Dave’s admonition Joe could not restrain a joyous shout.

And it was astonishing how that reckless Charlie Blake increased his

speed after they had turned into a long, straight country road. Many a

person stopped to look after the flying car, which kept steadily on and

on until lost to view in the distance.