AN EXCITING RUN
Wiley had shouted the joke so loudly that those in the forward car heard
him, and it was repeated to Chance Avery. As Dan swerved to the left a
bit, preparatory to running out beside Burton Poole’s car, Chance
glanced around. They could not see him scowl, for his mask and goggles
covered his face.
But it was plain that the captain of the Riverdale Club was not going to
be beaten so easily. He forced the Poole car ahead, and Dan immediately
gave up all intention of passing the first automobile.
“Go to it, boy!” shouted Fisher Greene. “Show ’em what’s in this car.”
“No,” said Dan, easily. “We’re not out for a race, but for a pleasant
run.”
“You’re afraid!” mocked Wiley.
“Perhaps,” returned Dan, cheerfully.
Even Billy kept his temper and grinned at the gibes of Wiley and Fisher.
The Breton-Melville car had shown what she could do for a few moments,
and that satisfied Billy, as it did his brother. The Speedwells knew
that of the three cars, their drab machine was running the smoothest,
with less cost, and was as easily governed as any.
They ran on for the rest of the distance to Karnac Lake in the same
order, letting Chance, in the Poole car, keep the lead, while the
Speedwell and Greene machines ran close together and the occupants were
sociable.
They arrived at Stetson Lodge, as the lake cottage was called, in ample
season to remove the dust of the journey, and become acquainted with
other folk of the cottage colony invited in for supper. It was a merry
evening for all, the Stetsons being people who knew very well how to
make their guests feel at home.
At eleven o’clock, or a little later, the party broke up. The
neighboring guests went home and the members of the party sought their
several rooms. Dan and Billy had already explained to Jim Stetson that
they intended to run home in their car and return soon after breakfast,
or even before, Saturday morning.
“You can’t do it, fellows,” said Jim, as he went out with them, and held
the lantern while they ran the drab car out from under the shed and lit
the lamps, both fore and aft. “Fifty miles each way—huh! something will
happen to the machine as sure as shooting.”
“If she can’t run a hundred miles in twelve hours without going to the
repair shop,” snorted Billy, “there isn’t much use in our entering for
the thousand mile run.”
“You’re right there, Billy-boy,” said Dan, as he cranked up and the
engine began to whirr and pop.
“Well, good luck!” exclaimed Jim, as he closed the shed. “We have to
keep these doors locked. You see, that M’Kim chap—Harrington M’Kim—is
just crazy about automobiles and uncle doesn’t know what he might do
next. He came over here one day last summer and borrowed uncle’s car
without saying ‘by your leave’, and started off with it. They caught
him, however, in time.”
“What’s the matter with him?” asked Billy.
“Why—I’m not sure that there’s much the matter with him, if his folks
wouldn’t watch over him so close and nag him all the time. The poor chap
is epileptic——”
“Has fits?”
“Yes. Dreadful ones sometimes. But he’ll outgrow them, the doctor says.
Only his folks are rich, and they hire maids, and governesses, and
tutors and such folk, to watch him all the time. They don’t dare have
him play like other boys, or with other boys. He’s in bad now, I tell
you.”
“But running an automobile is no job for a fellow who may have a fit at
any moment,” said Billy.
“I believe you,” said Jim. “Well, you’re off!”
“Bye-bye!” shouted Billy, as Dan whirled the car out of the yard. But
before they were a mile on the road the brothers changed places. Billy
slipped to the wheel and Dan sat beside him.
“Now, youngster!” chuckled Dan, “let’s see what you can do to her. We
have a clear road before us. Up hill and down dale—just about what we’ll
have for the thousand mile run. And we’ve got no weight behind. Let her
go!”
The drab car climbed the hill without a break, slid over the summit, and
coasted down the other side at a pace which made the brothers stoop to
get a breath. Their lights showed a long, clear stretch of road ahead;
but when they came to a bend they went around it so quickly that Dan was
obliged to fling himself far out from the car on the inner side to keep
the tires on the ground. And his weight was barely sufficient for that.
At racing speed they came down into Riverdale. The town was silent and
only the street lights winked at them as they roared through the streets
and out past Josiah Somes’ home. That watchdog of the public welfare was
not on hand to stretch his rope for them, and in a very few minutes they
ran quietly into their own yard—time from Karnac, one hour and thirteen
minutes.
But as soon as the engine had cooled off they had to go over the entire
machine, tighten bolts, replace some, clean thoroughly, oil the
bearings, and otherwise give the Breton-Melville a thorough grooming.
“That’s all right,” said Dan. “She can do fast time—there’s no doubt of
it. But that isn’t the way to win an endurance test of a thousand miles,
Billy.”
“I expect not,” agreed his brother.
“Fast traveling will shake the best car to pieces. And we are not up in
the mechanics of the automobile yet—we can’t stop anywhere on the road
and repair the vitals of our craft, as these professionals do.”
“We’ve got to learn,” said Billy, thoughtfully.
“That’s the checker! If we are going in for mechanics—motorcycles, motor
cars—perhaps, Billy, power boats——”
“Ouch! you’re treading on a sore corn,” grunted Billy, but with a grin.
“I was watching those scooters running up and down the river under the
bridge the other day till my tongue fairly hung out of my mouth! My
goodness me, Dannie! what couldn’t we do with a motor boat—eh?”
“We couldn’t plow for corn with it, I reckon,” laughed the elder
brother. “But it would be fine to own a launch like the _Pedoe_, or the
_Mainspring II_.”
“And how about John Lovell’s _Blue Streak_?” exclaimed Billy. “I saw her
on the Fourth. Why, she cut the water like a shark going to dinner!”
“Well, to get back to what I was saying,” Dan observed. “If we are going
in for these things, we must have some technical training. We can’t
think of going to school after next year. Father can’t afford to send
us. But we must get in somewhere—into some shop where we can learn
mechanics.”
“The Darringford Shops, for instance?” suggested Billy.
“One of us might; but the other ought to take up the electrical
branches, I believe.”
While they were talking, they were at work upon the body and mechanism
of their Breton-Melville. Before it was time to do the usual chores they
had put the car in fine shape again, got an hour’s nap which did them a
world of good, and they were loading up the wagons when their father
came out of the house.
“Aren’t you boys paying rather dearly for your fun?” he asked,
good-naturedly. “I hardly expected you’d get back here. Your mother and
I did not hear you come in. And how does the car run?”
“Dandy and good, Dad!” cried Billy, while Dan said:
“Now, there wasn’t any need of your getting up so early. We’re not going
to let you pay for our fun, that’s sure. When Billy and I get our
schemes to working right, we’ll deliver this milk in half the time it
takes now—and, naturally, at half the expense.”
“Yes,” interposed Billy, giggling. “Dan’s going to take the bottles
around to the customers in a motor launch!”
But Dan only smiled quietly at this. They got off with the milk wagons
in good season, and were back betimes, also, and without mishap. Mrs.
Speedwell had a good breakfast ready for them, and they ate and were off
again in the car at a few minutes past seven o’clock.
The run back to Karnac Lake was a more moderate one than that they had
taken at midnight; nevertheless they arrived at the Stetson cottage
about nine o’clock. They put their own car into the shed which did
service as a garage and found the whole crowd out on the drive along the
lakeside—a fine macadamized piece of road sixty feet wide and following
the lake shore for nearly ten miles.
Chance Avery had Poole’s car out and was driving up and down, “doing
stunts,” as Wiley Moyle called it.
“Why don’t you fellows bring out your bunch of scrap iron and show that
chap some fancy running?” Fisher Greene demanded. “Perry won’t get our
car in the ring. I hate to see Chance Avery always carrying off the
honors.”
“No,” said Dan. “We’ve just taken fifty miles at a good clip and we’ll
have to overhaul her again before we go back to-night. Let Chance do his
monkey business without any rival.”
But the girls thought that Avery was really a remarkable chauffeur. He
did handle Burton Poole’s car with some dexterity; nevertheless, Dan was
quite decided in his own mind that the Poole automobile was by no means
as good a machine as their own Breton-Melville.
Burton, however, had his car furnished nicely. There was little wonder
that the girls preferred to ride in it. They all became tired after a
little while, however, and either joined in, or stood to watch, a
doubles’ set at tennis. Chance left his car, and joined Mildred Kent
beside the tennis court.
Suddenly Jim Stetson began to shout. He was one of the players and had
just started service when he dropped ball and racquette and started on a
run for the road, yelling:
“Get out of that, Harrington! Drop it!”
At the moment the car began to pop and they all saw it move away from
the curb. A slight fellow in a blazer coat, and without a hat, was at
the wheel. He was a pasty-faced fellow, thin, unhealthy-looking, and
with a pronounced squint in his eyes.
He grinned over his shoulder at Jim, and stuck out his tongue. Meanwhile
he put the car up to a good speed and fairly flew away up the drive.
“It’s Harrington M’Kim!” cried Ruth Stetson. “Oh, that boy will do some
damage to that car!”
“He’ll wreck it, or break his own neck,” declared Monroe Stevens. “Why
did you leave it so it could be started by the first chap that came
along, Chance?”
But there was no use in scolding the captain of the Outing Club. Poole’s
car was sailing up the drive at a pace which made pursuit afoot a futile
game.
“Somebody get out another car and give chase!” cried Jim.
“But then Harrington will only run faster,” objected his sister.
Suddenly they saw the car describe a graceful curve and return toward
them. The reckless youth handled Poole’s auto like a veteran.
“We’ve got a chance to stop him when he comes by,” declared Avery.
“How?” sneered Jim Stetson. “He’d run right over you. He wouldn’t care.
I tell you he doesn’t act as though he had good sense.”
“What do they let such a fellow go loose for, then?” cried Chance Avery.
As he spoke they were all startled by the change which they saw plainly
flash into young Harrington M’Kim’s features. His countenance writhed,
he fell back in the seat, let go of the wheel and his body was convulsed
in the grip of the epileptic seizure. The automobile was running wild!