THE FIRST TEN HOURS
This road race was much different from the usual test of speed on the
open highway. There were no guards lines, or men with flags at cross
roads to warn the unwary drivers of horses, or pedestrians. The cars in
this endurance run had to take all the chances, and suffer the delays
usual to an automobile run in the suburban districts.
The Speedwells in their forty-eight were less than five miles out of
Compton when they passed forty-seven. On the edge of Pachusett, half a
mile farther on, they found forty-six in the ditch! A big load of hay
was overturned across the road, and the hay wagon had lost a wheel.
How this wreck had occurred the Speedwells did not stop to ask. There
was a crowd of a couple of hundred persons around the scene of the
wreck, and it was plain that neither the automobilists nor the farmers
needed any help.
There had been frost enough the night before to make the fields hard,
and this was a cloudy day. Dan made up his mind instantly to go around
the obstruction. He and Billy got out and removed a section of the
roadside fence and steered their drab car out into a turnip field.
Number forty-nine was then in view; but the Speedwells got away quickly
and ran through Pachusett as fast as they dared. Two stern-looking
constables, with big tin stars on the breasts of their coats, held their
Waterbury watches on number forty-eight as it sung along Main Street;
but they evidently could not figure out just how fast the boys were
going.
It had not rained for some time, and the roads were very dusty in
places. Where the roadway was lightly built the autos ahead of the
Speedwells had already cut deeply into the surface. It was soon hard
traveling, and the dust and sand sifted over them, and over the car,
until they looked like millers.
“This is why the faster we get ahead this first day, and the more cars
we put behind us, the better off we will be for the rest of the run,”
said Dan.
“I guess so! Lettie Parker hit it right the day we went to Karnac Lake.
The best place in a run of this kind is right up ahead,” agreed Billy.
According to the road map there was a splendid piece of macadamized
highway between Bannister and City Ford, and it was thirty-eight miles
long. It was a piece of road greatly favored by automobilists, and it
was always well traveled. But this run had been so well advertised that
ordinary motor car drivers out for pleasure on this stretch of road
would give the right of way to the racing cars.
It was a wide road and almost level. There was not a bridge or a
railroad crossing for the entire thirty-eight miles. When the Speedwells
struck the head of this piece of highway, Dan slipped out of the
chauffeur’s seat, and allowed his brother to get under the wheel.
Billy was eager to feel the throb and jump of the mechanism under his
hand. They had stopped a few moments before, too, tried certain bolts,
filled the gasoline tank, and “watered her.” Everything seemed as taut
as when they rolled out of the Compton Motordrome.
“Now, boy, go to it!” his brother said. “Show them what you can do.”
And Billy was not backward in doing this. He had an ambition to be a
fast driver and all the conditions were in his favor. Number forty-eight
began to travel immediately, and soon he had brought her up to such
speed that—as Dan yelled in his ear—the telegraph poles beside the road
looked like a picket fence!
They had passed number forty-five before this, and now, in quick
succession they overtook forty-four, thirty-nine and seventeen—the
latter having been held back by some slight breakage. But this was too
early in the game to be sure that they had passed these cars for good!
Billy, however, gave his dust to several other cars in the race before
they traversed that thirty-eight miles of beautiful, hard road. And
their time was forty-three minutes!
“Good boy!” cried Dan, as they slowed down to a twelve-mile speed as
they struck the head of Market Street in City Ford. “We have run a
hundred and five miles and our time is three hours and ten minutes.”
“Why, at this rate,” cried Billy, “we’ll be able to get beyond the Holly
Tree Inn to-night. Don’t you think so?”
“I have my doubts about it,” said Dan. “There is no other piece of road
like that we’ve just come over. There’ll be little racing for the rest
of the day, but just steady plugging along. And we’ve got to eat, old
man!”
“Let me stick to the wheel while you take a bite, Dan,” begged the
younger boy, “and then I’ll eat. I wonder how far some of the head cars
will get to-day? Where’s Mr. Briggs’ car?”
“Haven’t seen it yet. We haven’t passed that maroon baby, you may very
well believe!”
“And Mr. Darringford’s car?” queried Billy.
“Why, he’s behind. Didn’t you notice? His number is fifty-three.”
“And number seven?” said Billy. “That’s the car I want to give the dust
of the road.”
“You’ll wait a bit for that,” said his brother. “Chance and Burton
started too far in advance for us to think of passing them yet.”
“You never can tell,” Billy observed, shaking his head. “Maybe they’ll
break down.”
“I hope not,” returned Dan, quickly. “If we beat them I want them to
have the best chance possible.”
“Say! I’d like to show ’em up right around Greenbaugh,” said Billy,
quickly. “You know, Chance went to Greenbaugh Seminary one year—before
his brother came to the Darringford shops.”
“Well?”
“Chance has been blowing around that the Greenbaugh Seminary fellows
will give him an ovation when he goes through the town. Of course, he’ll
want to be clear ahead of most of the crowd, so as to show ’em what a
great driver he is. I don’t care how far ahead he is of the other cars,
but when he parades down Greenbaugh’s High Street, I want him to be
taking the dust of number forty-eight,” concluded Billy with energy.
“My! but you’re right vicious!” chuckled Dan, as they rumbled out upon
the river bridge and left City Ford behind them.
Our heroes climbed hills and descended short, sharp runs; they passed
through forest and field; the “slow down” signs faced them frequently
and Billy chafed as they ran through the hamlets at what he considered a
snail’s pace.
At some places crowds had gathered to watch the contestants pass. Then
again other automobiles joined in the procession and kept up with some
of the entries for miles. These incidents retarded speed, if anything.
The road race was much different from the track trials Dan and Billy had
seen.
In some small towns there was little order as the automobiles came
through so close together. The constables were more interested in seeing
that the motorists did not exceed the speed limit than in keeping the
streets clear. Reckless boys would run back and forth across the
roadway. It was perilous even to travel at the legal rate.
The Speedwells had passed several more cars. At one big, well-lighted
roadhouse there were a dozen of the contestants in the race, having put
their cars under the sheds for the night. Mr. Briggs’ big Postlethwaite
was just being backed into a stall as the Speedwells shot by. Henri
waved his hand to Dan and called good luck after them. It was some
satisfaction to the boys to know that they had gotten the best of at
least twenty of the other cars. They had then won on them from half an
hour to two hours in time.
They had only an hour of their own time remaining, however, and the
Holly Tree Inn at Farmingdale was still forty miles away. The roads were
reported only fair. But comparatively few cars had been over them and
they would not be so badly cut up as were many which lay behind.
And within that forty miles the map showed but two hamlets where it
would be necessary to slow down. Both were liberal towns—twelve miles an
hour was the limit.
The Breton-Melville car was running smoothly. Not an hour before they
had oiled up and groomed her nicely. There was a possibility of making
the Holly Tree within the time stipulated.
“And if we don’t, we’ll have to stop at Sharpe’s Crossroads to register
and stay for the night,” said Billy, nervously. “That’s the ticket,
isn’t it, Dan?”
“That is the result of failure,” smiled his brother. “_But we’re not
going to fail!_”
They had interchanged these remarks at a spot where they had to run
slowly. Once free again Dan let the car out with a suddenness that made
the machine leap like a horse under the spur. They shot along the
country road, overhung with trees which made the darkness deeper, their
head-lamps parting the gloom before them, and displaying objects with
clearness. The Speedwells had fitted their car with good lamps; but no
headlight will reveal an obstruction in the road far enough in advance
for a car to be brought to a stop, if it is running at top speed.
They were taking chances, that was a fact. Dan Speedwell was not usually
reckless; but he had a double incentive in thus “running on his luck.”
Not alone did he desire to make the Holly Tree Inn within the ten-hour
limit; but car number seven had not yet been passed!
Burton Poole’s auto was still ahead. Dan believed that Chance Avery
would drive Poole’s car at top speed this first day. And Billy himself
longed to beat car number seven no more than Dan did, although the
latter said less about it.
When the clock, screwed under the wind shield, showed twenty minutes
after nine they had traveled seventeen of the forty miles. And right
ahead was the second village. For three miles and more they would have
to reduce speed—or, were supposed to.
But it is a nice problem to run one of these racing cars at a twelve
mile an hour gait!
When number forty-eight came to the head of Main Street, the lights
revealed a straggling row of houses on either side, a general store, or
two, a postoffice, and a clear street. If Dan reduced speed at all,
Billy never noticed it!
They roared through the little town like a limited express going by a
flag station. There may have been constables in that town; but they were
not on hand. At least, Dan and Billy Speedwell never saw them as they
shot along the main thoroughfare and out into the country on the other
side.
Faster and faster the machine seemed to fly. When they took the curves
Billy threw his weight upon the other side, leaning far off from the
step and doing his best to keep the tires on the ground.
They flashed past the little collection of houses as Sharpe’s
Crossroads. The clock pointed to twenty minutes to ten. It was nine
miles to the Farmingdale Inn.
The car took a curve and the wheels skidded; but Dan did not reduce
speed. He got back into the center of the road before they reached a
covered bridge over the river.
The bridge was well lighted. Good fortune in that!
As the car rushed down to the covered way Billy suddenly uttered a
frightened yell. There was a car stalled right in the path!
The covered bridge was divided by a partition into two driveways. The
stalled machine was in the right-hand track—the way the Speedwells
should take according to all rules of the road. Its rear lamp was shut
off and the Breton-Melville would have crashed into it had not the
bridge lights revealed the danger.
And even then it is doubtful if Dan could have braked in time. Indeed,
he did not try to. He swerved to the left and saw that that side of the
bridge was clear.
The drab car shot across the bridge at terrific speed. The boys could
not halt to see what was the matter with the stalled auto. A few moments
only did they have to run into Farmingdale. And they would have to
reduce speed on the outskirts of the town.
For several miles they had traveled more than a mile a minute!
The day’s race was done, however; the lights of the Holly Tree Inn were
in sight. They rolled into the yard, where several autos were already
standing, with two minutes to spare. It was twelve minutes to ten.
But as Dan and Billy threw aside their coats and got out to stretch
their legs, the younger boy said:
“What car do you suppose that was in the bridge, Dannie?”
“Give it up. Didn’t see any number on it.”
“I know. And Mr. Briggs’ car is behind us—we passed it.”
“Sure,” declared Dan, in surprise.
“Well, that car in the bridgeway was a maroon auto; I didn’t know there
was more than one maroon car in the race; did you?” queried Billy,
seriously.