A FAMILY CONFERENCE
Jerry had put on the brakes so hard that the rear wheels were locked,
and they slid along a foot or more, skidding until the automobile came
to a stop on one side of the road. Then the three lads leaped out, and
started back toward the scene of the accident.
“She’s on fire!” cried Bob, as he pointed to curling smoke arising from
the overturned roadster.
“And the man’s under it!” yelled Ned.
“Keep moving!” shouted Jerry. “We’ve got to do something!”
Fortunately, the car was a light one, and it was tilted at such an
angle that the combined strength of the three lads on the higher side
served to turn it upright once more. The fire was under the bonnet, the
covers of which were jammed and bent.
The boys had expected to find a very seriously injured man beneath
the car, but, to their surprise, when they righted the machine, the
driver, somewhat dusty and dirty, crawled out and stood up, a few
scratches on his hands and face alone showing where he was injured,
though it was evident from the manner in which he rubbed one arm that
it had been at least bruised.
There came a larger puff of smoke from beneath the car’s bonnet, and a
flash of flame showed.
“Carburetor’s on fire!” cried Ned.
“Got an extinguisher?” asked Jerry of the man.
He shook his head, being either too much out of breath or too excited
over his narrow escape to talk.
“I’ll get ours!” shouted Ned, as he raced back toward their machine,
climbing up the bank, down which the boys had rushed to the rescue.
Jerry and Bob forced up the bent and jammed covers of the engine, and
disclosed the fact that the fire, so far, was only in the carburetor,
which had become flooded with gasoline when the car turned over.
In a few seconds Ned was back with the extinguisher, and when a
generous supply of the chemicals it contained had been squirted on the
blazing gasoline, the fire went out with a smudge of smoke.
“That was a narrow escape for me, boys,” said the man, and his voice
shook a little. “I thought sure I was done for when I felt the car
leaving the road. I tried to bring it back, but the turn was too much
for me, and over I went.”
“This is a dangerous turn,” commented Jerry. “There ought to be a
warning sign put up here.”
“We called to you,” Bob told him.
“I didn’t hear you,” the man said. “Boys, I want to thank you!”
He seemed overcome for a moment. Then he went on.
“Mere thanks, of course, do not express what I mean. You saved my life.
I don’t believe I could have gotten out of the car alone. My legs were
held down, and so was one arm. I’d have burned to death if you hadn’t
been here.”
“Well, we’re glad we were here,” Jerry said. “Are you much hurt?”
“Nothing worth speaking about. Some bruises and scratches. I certainly
did have a lucky escape. My name is Hobson--Samuel Hobson,” and he drew
a card from his pocket, handing it to Jerry. “I was driving a bit too
fast, I guess, but I was in a hurry to get the express at Wrightville.
I’m on my way West, on important business, and the only way to make
connections is to go to Wrightville to get the fast train. So I started
in my car, intending to leave it at the garage in Wrightville. I’m
afraid I’ll miss the train now.”
“Oh, I guess you’ve got time to make it,” said Jerry, with a look at
his watch. “Wrightville is only three miles from here. But I’m afraid
you can’t make it in your car.”
“I guess you’ve said it,” admitted Mr. Hobson, after a quick
inspection. “I can’t run my car until it’s been in the repair shop.
It’ll be hard to get it back on the road, too,” he went on, as he
looked at the steep bank down which he had rolled in the machine. “And
I _must_ get that train!” he exclaimed anxiously.
“I reckon we can get you to the train all right in our car,” said Bob.
“We’re not in any special hurry--only out for a little ride. We’ll take
you to the station.”
“Surely!” added Jerry. “If you feel well enough to take the ride.”
“Oh, I’m all right!” protested Mr. Hobson. “I had presence of mind
enough to get out of the way of the steering wheel as I felt myself
going over. I’ll be very much obliged if you will take me to the depot.
It is extremely important that I get my train for the West. But about
my car--I’ll have to leave it here, I guess.”
“Nobody can run it, that’s sure,” Ned remarked. “And if you were going
to leave it at the garage in Wrightville you could tell the man there
to come out here and get it, and tow it in for repairs.”
“That’s so, I could do that,” admitted Mr. Hobson. “I don’t know that
I’ll have time, if I make my train, to tell the garage people, though.”
“We can do that for you,” offered Jerry. “We’ll tell the garage man
after we leave you at the depot.”
“Will you, boys? I’ll be a thousand times obliged to you if you will!
I wouldn’t miss that train for a good deal. Just tell the garage man
to come and get my car. I’ll settle all expenses with him when I come
back, which will be in a couple of weeks.
“And now, if you don’t mind, I’ll get in your car and let you take me
to Wrightville. It’s very kind of you. I thought I was in for a streak
of bad luck when my machine went over with me, but this seems to be a
turn for the better.”
Leaving the wrecked car where it was, Jerry and his chums went back to
their machine with Mr. Hobson, giving their names on the way. It was a
short run to Wrightville, but Mr. Hobson, who did not have any too much
time to begin with, only just made the train as it was.
“Good-bye, boys!” he called, as he swung aboard the express, waving his
hand to them. “See you again some time, I hope.”
And it was under rather strange circumstances when Mr. Hobson once more
confronted our heroes.
“Well, now to tell the garage man, and then for the eats!” exclaimed
Bob as they rode away from the railroad station. “I’ve got more of an
appetite than ever. That little excitement seemed to make me hungry.”
“It doesn’t take much to make _you_ hungry,” commented Jerry. “But we
might as well eat here as to go on to Wallace’s. That would take half
an hour.”
“Yes, let’s eat here,” acquiesced Chunky, and Ned assenting, that plan
was agreed upon.
“Mr. Hobson? Oh, yes, I know him,” the garage man said when the story
of the wrecked car had been told. “He often passes through here. Just
leave it to me. I’ll go out and get his machine, tow it in and fix it
up. I know the place all right. That sure is a bad turn. I guess he
never had been on that road before. But I’ll get his car right away.”
“Then we can eat,” said Bob, with a sigh of relief.
While the three boys were making for a restaurant, there was taking
place back in Jerry’s home the family conference, the knowledge of
which had, in a measure, rather disturbed the three chums. For though
they knew that it was going on, they could only guess at the object,
which seemed to be rather important.
And, in a sense, it was.
That morning Mr. Aaron Slade, the head of the largest department store
in Cresville, a town not far from Boston, had called on Mr. Andrew
Baker, the banker.
“Andrew,” Mr. Slade had said (for he and the banker were old friends),
“what are we going to do with our boys?”
“That’s just the question which has been puzzling me,” said Mr. Baker.
“They are the finest fellows in the world,” went on Mr. Slade, “and so
is their chum, Jerry Hopkins. But, to tell you the truth, Andrew, I’m a
bit worried about Ned.”
“And I am about Bob. Not that he’s done anything wrong, but he is
getting too wild. I’m afraid they’ve been allowed too much freedom,
what with their auto, their motor boat, and airship. I thought, at the
time, it was good for them to go off by themselves, and learn to depend
on their own efforts, as they certainly did many times. But now I’m
beginning to think differently.”
“So am I,” admitted his friend. “Take that little incident last week--I
was telling you about it, I guess--how they raced with some fellow on
the road, and nearly collided with a hay wagon.”
“Yes, I heard about it. Well, boys will be boys, I suppose, but I’ve
made up my mind that mine will have to settle down a little more.”
“The same here. But how can we do it?”
For a moment the two business men remained in thought. Then Mr. Slade
said:
“I’ll tell you what we’d better do, Andrew. Let’s go and have a talk
with Mrs. Hopkins. She’s one of the most capable, efficient and
level-headed women I know. That’s one reason why I sold her some stock
in my store. Her son Jerry is such a chum of our boys that I’ve no
doubt she feels about as we do, for Jerry is into the same scrapes and
fun that our boys get into. Let’s go and have a talk with Mrs. Hopkins.”
“I’m with you!” the banker exclaimed. “I’ll call her on the ’phone and
see if it’s convenient for us to run out there.”
A few moments’ talk over the wire apprised Mrs. Hopkins of what was in
the air, and she invited the two gentlemen to call.
That is the reason Mrs. Hopkins did not go motoring with Jerry. So
Jerry took his two chums, who were made aware of the family conference
in that fashion.
“Well, gentlemen,” said Mrs. Hopkins, when the matter had been fully
explained to her, and Mr. Slade and Mr. Baker had each expressed the
idea that their sons were in need of a little taming down, “I feel
about it as you do. I wish Jerry were not quite so lively and fond of
such exciting adventures. But now we have arrived at that decision,
what’s to be done?”
“The very question I asked!” exclaimed Mr. Slade.
“Send ’em to college!” proposed Mr. Baker, after a moment’s thought. “A
good, strict, up-to-date college is the place for them. They’d have to
buckle down to hard work, but there would be enough of athletic sport
to give them an outlet for their energies. Send the boys to college!
How does that idea strike you?”
“It might be the very thing,” answered Mrs. Hopkins thoughtfully.
“The boys have a pretty good education as it is from the Academy and
from their private studies, but of late they have been allowed to run
a little too freely. I should say college would be the best thing in
the world for them. Some difficult studies would give their too active
brains something more than adventures to feed on, and I have faith
enough in the boys to be sure they would strive to do well--to excel in
their studies as they have excelled in quests, races and other things
in which they have taken part.”
“I am glad you agree with me,” said Mr. Baker. “How about you, Aaron?”
and he looked across at Ned’s father.
“I’m of the same opinion,” was the answer.
“Good!” exclaimed Mr. Baker. “Well, now that is settled, which college
shall it be? There are several good ones in this section of New
England, but the question is whether they are just those best fitted
for our boys.”
“How about a military academy?” asked Mr. Slade. “They’d get good
discipline there.”
Mrs. Hopkins shook her head.
“I haven’t a word to say against militarism, except that I think war
a terrible thing,” she said. “I believe in preparedness, too, but I
don’t fancy a military school for Jerry. I’m afraid there would be a
little too much discipline at first, when the boys have been used to so
little.”
“Perhaps you are right,” said Mr. Slade. “I am not very much in favor
of it myself.”
Several colleges were mentioned at the family conference, but nothing
definite was decided on, and it was agreed to meet again in a day or
so. Meanwhile the catalogues of several institutions could be sent for
to judge which college would be best suited to the boys.
“A very capable woman,” commented Mr. Slade, as he and his friend left
Mrs. Hopkins’s house.
“Very. And I am glad we have come to this decision about our boys.”
“So am I. I wonder how the boys will take it.”
“It’s hard to tell. We won’t say anything to them about it for a while.”
“No,” agreed Mr. Slade.