OFF ON THE ENDURANCE TEST
The boy was a sad sight himself; but the peril which menaced him
and—incidentally—Burton Poole’s auto, moved some of the onlookers more
than did the pitiful condition of young Harrington M’Kim.
The car was rushing down toward the Stetson cottage, which was the last
house in the row before the drive turned abruptly away from the lake. At
this corner a low wall guarded the path; but the bricks were built up
only two feet high, and that wildly running auto would mount the
sidewalk and this brick wall, too, and be dashed into the water which
here lapped the foot of the embankment.
It was a sad predicament for M’Kim. But to one of those who saw the car
flying down the drive, the fate of the machine seemed more important
than the fate of the boy!
“Stop it! The car will be wrecked!” yelled Chance Avery, and he fairly
danced up and down in his excitement. But he did not make any reckless
attempt to halt the career of the automobile.
Fortunately the car had been headed straight down the middle of the road
before M’Kim’s seizure. It came at fast speed, for the reckless youth
had set the gas lever well forward. It swept down upon the
horror-stricken group.
It was Dan Speedwell who made the first move. He cleared the sidewalk in
three strides and dashed into the road directly in the path of the
flying car. The girls screamed again. Mildred Kent called to him.
“Dan! Dannie! You’ll be killed!”
And it did seem an utterly reckless and useless thing for Dan to do. He
was putting his life in jeopardy, so it seemed, without there being a
possibility of his either aiding the boy in the car, or stopping the
auto itself.
The writhing figure on the front seat attracted less attention now than
did Dan. They saw him stand, unmoved, directly in the track of the car.
The heavy machine rolled down upon him and—it seemed—would crush him in
an instant.
It was then that Dan Speedwell leaped aside. The automobile flashed by,
but Dan was quick enough to catch hold with both hands.
He was whirled off his feet and was dragged for several yards. Then he
got a knee upon the run board, then raised himself, slipped to the
wheel, and as the car came to the sharp turn, he threw back the lever,
cast out the gear, and guided the fast-flying auto so that it would take
the bend in the road on a long curve.
It was all over, then. Dan turned the car about and came easily back
before his excited friends reached the corner. M’Kim lay still, the
paroxysm past. Dan ran the car in toward the curb and halted.
“Dan! you dear fellow, you!” shouted Burton Poole, first to seize his
hand. “I suppose I’m selfish to not think more of M’Kim—but the car! You
saved it for us.”
“You’re all right, Dannie,” cried his brother, pumping away at his other
hand.
Jim and Fisher Greene raised a more or less familiar chant:
“Dan! Dan! He’s the man! Dan! Dan! Dan Speedwell!”
They were all shouting the chant in a moment—all but Chance Avery.
Chance looked the car over to make sure that it was not injured. But he
never gave the lad who had saved it a word of thanks. Friends of M’Kim
cared for the unfortunate youth.
The pleasant day by the lake passed without incident after that. They
rode home in the evening, a merry party indeed. Mildred Kent elected to
sit beside Dan in the front seat. There was a new moon riding above the
tree-tops, and the stars were brilliant.
“Dannie,” said the girl, laying her friendly hand upon his jacket
sleeve, “I want to tell you how proud I am that you stopped that car and
saved it from going over the wall. I know Chance Avery has treated you
meanly, and it must have taken some effort on your part to jump in and
save the car he has boasted is going to beat yours for the golden cup.
It was real noble of you—you heaped coals of fire on Avery’s head.”
But Dan and Billy both had occasion to think a good deal about Burton
Poole’s automobile before Thanksgiving week came around. Chance Avery
allowed no opportunity to pass wherein he could belittle the Speedwells’
drab car, or cast doubt upon the possibility of our heroes getting a
hundred miles on the trail laid out by Mr. Briggs for the endurance
test.
The circulars containing the rules of the road and other information
were studied more than the school text books those final few days before
the Thanksgiving vacation. Even Dan, who was particularly faithful to
his studies, found it hard to keep up to the mark.
He and Billy had bought maps of the states through which they hoped to
travel. The course was laid out as a rough triangle, making Compton the
starting point and touching two large cities, bringing up finally at
Compton again as a finish. The measured distance over the route chosen
was exactly a thousand and eight miles.
They knew that they could easily comply with all the demands Mr. Briggs
made, and with all the conditions of the race. They had learned by this
time the minutest particulars about their car. Either of the Speedwells
could have taken the Breton-Melville auto apart and assembled the parts
again perfectly.
Among the Riverdale Outing Club members the interest lay in the rivalry
between the local cars, more than in the general outcome of the race.
There were to be several contestants from the town in the endurance run,
but it was generally acknowledged that none of them had much chance—if
the result of the run was governed by speed—saving Burton Poole’s car
and that of the Speedwell boys.
And the owners of the Breton-Melville car knew that the speed
possibilities of their auto was only a part of the game. It would never
do to race over the roads at the pace they had come from Karnac Lake at
midnight. No machine, no matter how well built, could stand many miles
of such work without shaking to pieces.
The boys had gone over the route by map, and planned just where they
would halt for their meals and for necessary sleep. They had read
accounts of former runs, and knew about what to expect on the road.
Although the run was well advertised, there would doubtless be many
obstructions on the route, and the weather, of course, could not be
arranged to suit the contestants.
The rules were that any contestant could run ten hours in each
twenty-four—consecutively, not otherwise; time lost on repairs or
stoppages beyond the automobilists’ control, not allowed. The cars were
to be started within ten minutes of each other, and their time would be
registered at each station. Stoppages for refreshment, or sleep, had to
be reported exactly, too.
One week before the starting of the race there were entered sixty-five
cars in the endurance test. Then came the drawings, and Dan and Billy
found themselves to be forty-eighth on the list. The first car would be
started out of the Compton Motordrome at four o’clock in the morning,
and, allowing ten minutes for each car to get under way, the Speedwell
boys would not be sent out until ten minutes before noon. Their first
day’s run, therefore, would end at ten minutes to ten at night.
The rules allowed them to make the nearest station at the end of a day’s
run; but any extra time had to be subtracted from the following day’s
schedule. It was a much discussed question as to how long it would take
the best car to get over the route under Mr. Briggs’ rules; Dan and
Billy believed that it would take between four and five days.
“Twenty miles an hour, on an average, will be mighty good time,” Dan
said to his brother. “Of course, we read about sixty, and seventy, and
eighty and even ninety and more miles an hour, in automobile racing.
We’ve traveled at the rate of ninety miles on our motorcycles—for a
mile, or so. But that isn’t what counts.”
“Just the same, if a fellow could get ahead and keep his lead—” began
Billy.
“Yes! Keeping it is what counts. But if any of these fellows start
racing over the sort of roads there are between Greenbaugh and Olin
City, for instance, they’ll shake their machines to pieces inside of
five miles. Remember, we’ve got to climb a mountain chain twice during
the run, and it will be a stiff pull each time.”
“Don’t you fret. You’re the doctor,” grunted Billy. “I’m not going to
put in my oar. I’ll trust to your judgment every time, old man.”
“Well, I may make a mistake,” admitted Dan. “But I’m glad for one that
Chance and Burton are not near us.”
“No, they’re lucky to get away among the first—seven will be tacked onto
the hood of their car,” said Billy, who had been studying the advertised
list of entries. “And do you notice where Mr. Briggs’ maroon
Postlethwaite is? He’s running near us—forty-one.”
“We’ll have good neighbors, then,” chuckled Dan.
“I don’t suppose the cars will remain long in the order they start, do
you?”
“I don’t know. We can leave when we please on the second day’s run. I
want, if possible, to make the Holly Tree Inn at Farmingdale on our
first day.”
“Whew!” ejaculated Billy, after consulting his guide. “That’s three
hundred miles—nearly. Do you think we can do it?”
“I don’t know. I mean to try.”
“And you were the one who said that racing wouldn’t pay.”
“And it won’t; but the roads are as good as any we shall have during the
entire run. Our car will be—is now, in fact—in perfect shape. If we have
any mechanical trouble, Billy, it won’t be on the first day. She can
stand thirty miles an hour. We’ll carry our eats with us, and our
biggest load will be gasoline. I don’t propose to stop but once a day to
buy juice—make up your mind to that, Billy-boy!”
There was an element of chance in the race, however, which lent zest to
it. An accident might make even the best of the cars fail to win
laurels. Down to the evening before the start, and on the arrival of all
of the contestants at the Compton Motordrome, no one could say surely
which automobile, and which team, had the better chance of winning the
golden cup.
The motordrome was gay with lights and red-fire. There were races, and
speeches, and a big crowd assembled and remained all night to see the
starting of the first cars. There was an all-night bicycle race for
amateurs in which Biff Hardy and Wiley Moyle carried off the honors for
the Riverdale Club; but although there were motorcycle races, too, the
Speedwells decided to keep out of them. They could not afford to risk an
accident.
And there was another thing Dan did not risk. When they left their
Breton-Melville under the shed, to go to the big gate and watch the
first cars get under way, Dan left somebody to watch the drab auto—and
somebody whom he could trust.
The Speedwells stood in the crowd and saw the first cars get away in the
light of the search-lamps. It was a cloudy morning and the string of
autos up the straight road soon looked like so many glow-worms. When
number seven rolled down to the starting line and the big placards were
fastened on, fore and aft, Dan and Billy made off for a house where they
had engaged a bed. They got five hours refreshing sleep and then had a
most excellent breakfast.
When they went back to the motordrome at a few minutes past eleven, they
found their father and mother and the children waiting for them. Mr.
Speedwell had driven over and brought his boys a great box of lunch to
carry in their car. He had engaged a man to help him with the milk
routes while Dan and Billy were absent.
There were plenty of Riverdale folk to cheer for the Speedwells as they
got away, too. Mildred Kent and Lettie Parker were in the Greenes’ auto
and the girls wished the team handling number forty-eight the best of
good luck as the drab car started.
The boys waved their caps as the Breton-Melville slid smoothly out of
the motordrome gate and over the starter’s line. There was a big crowd
in Compton now to watch the remaining cars get under way. The police
kept the street open for some distance; then the road broadened and the
houses became few and far between.
The shouts of the onlookers grew distant. The drab car began to purr
like a great cat. Behind they saw number forty-nine thrusting its
battleship prow out of a balloon of dust that traveled with it. Dan
advanced the spark. Right before them was number forty-seven, that had
started ten minutes earlier. The Breton-Melville, like a drab rocket,
curved out for this car and passed it as though forty-seven was at a
standstill!
The great race had begun, and Billy, in his heart, secretly counted the
passing of this car as the first milestone on their way to victory.