UNDERHAND WORK
Before Dan Speedwell could let this statement of his brother’s fairly
penetrate his mind the younger lad said, sharply:
“And here’s another!”
“Another what, Billy?” asked Dan. “Not another maroon auto?”
“Bosh! no! But another car, just the same, that we’re interested in.”
“Number seven!” cried Dan, seeing Burton Poole’s car standing under the
inn shed.
“Chance is here, all right, all right!” exclaimed Billy. “We’ve caught
up to them.”
“It doesn’t seem possible,” murmured Dan.
“Golly! won’t Chance be sore!”
“They must have met with an accident,” the older Speedwell declared.
“We’ve made as good a run as anybody, I bet,” said Billy, joyfully.
“We don’t know that,” remarked Dan, shaking his head.
“Come on in! Let’s see what they’ve got to say about it.”
“Now Billy,” urged Dan, stopping his younger brother, and speaking
seriously. “Don’t you stir up a rumpus. If Chance Avery turns up, you
let him alone. No heckling, mind!”
“Aw, well——”
“If we are running as good as he is we can afford to keep still about
it,” said Dan, wisely. “And if we’re not——”
“Pshaw!”
“If we’re not,” continued Dan, smiling, “he’ll know it fast enough.
Let’s not wrangle with him. I want to beat him as badly as you do—and I
hope we’ll beat him a plenty; but there’s no use crowing over him——”
“Hullo!” exclaimed a voice behind them, and the brothers turned swiftly
to see Burton Poole arm in arm with Chance himself. By the look on
Avery’s face Dan feared that the fellow had heard at least a part of
what had been said.
“How under the sun did you get here, Speedwell?” demanded Poole, in vast
surprise. “Is that a flying machine you’ve got? I declare, you have
beaten some of the best cars in the race!”
“We don’t know that they are beaten yet—except one,” said Dan, quickly.
“That one’s in the ditch.”
“But I don’t see how you could have got so far——”
“But you got here,” snapped Billy. “I don’t see why you should expect to
run so much better than we do.”
“Well, my car is a much better auto,” said Poole, with conviction; “and
we had a daylight run. What time did you get away? Almost noon, wasn’t
it?”
“Ten minutes to twelve,” said Dan.
Poole and Chance looked at each other quickly, and the former said:
“I told you you were wrong, Chance. They got here on time.”
“And with two minutes to spare,” said Billy, tartly. “Oh, I saw the man
taking our time on the inn steps as we came in. We’d have heard about it
before now if we had run over the schedule.”
Chance growled something in Burton’s ear and they walked away.
“Ha!” ejaculated Billy. “They both thought it would be a walk-over for
them. They never expected to see us during the run.”
“Well, they’ve seen us now. Let’s get to work, Billy-boy. We’ve got to
overhaul this car before we sleep.”
“If you say so, Dan,” said Billy, yawning wearily.
“It’s best. We want to get away bright and early—by seven o’clock at
least. No running after dark again for us. The cars that started late
had that handicap.”
“I know,” admitted Billy.
“Now, in the morning, those cars that we have passed, and that have put
up short of this place, will be out on the road in good season. We want
to keep ahead of those we have already passed.”
“And show some of those that are still ahead of us, our dust, too!”
interposed Billy.
“Exactly. Therefore,” concluded his brother, “let’s put our car in
proper shape to-night.”
And they did that, although it took them until nearly one o’clock in the
morning. But then Dan and Billy had the satisfaction of knowing that
their car was again in as good order as it was when it rolled out of the
motordrome at Compton the previous noon.
They were weary enough when they went to bed. All the other contestants
who had put up at the inn were long since asleep; but some of them would
be obliged to spend an hour or two in the morning overhauling and
grooming their cars.
Dan and Billy were eating an early breakfast—the clock stood at
6:15—when Burton Poole came into the dining room, yawning.
“And here’s two more of ’em!” Poole cried. “My! but I didn’t want to get
up at all. Chance has been out an hour or more.”
“Your car ready?” asked Billy, with his mouth full.
“Yep. You know, we got in at three o’clock and had plenty of time.”
“Then you’ll be getting under way soon?” suggested Dan.
“We’ll give you a rub on the road, I reckon,” said Burton, lazily. “See
what Chance says about it. Oh! here he is.”
Avery came in and, as usual, scowled at Dan and Billy.
“We want to start when the Speedwells do, don’t we, Chance?” asked
Burton. “I’d like to see how that old car of theirs runs.”
“We’ll start when we’re ready,” growled Chance. “I don’t want to know
anything about the Speedwell’s car—or when they start.”
“Well!” began Billy, but Dan reached over and put a hand on his arm.
“Drop it, youngster!” he commanded.
Billy conquered his anger with an effort, and the brothers were very
soon done. They had their gasoline to get and they had already taken the
cans around to the nearest supply depot. They proposed to pick them up
after leaving the hotel.
Dan reported their time after running the car out of the stable yard.
Chance and Burton could easily have been ready, but it was evident that
the former deliberately delayed their start until after the Speedwells
should get under way.
The Breton-Melville car had sufficient gasoline in her tank to run
forty or fifty miles; so they stopped at the fuel station only long
enough to strap on the extra cans. It was exactly seven when the car
left the Holly Tree Inn, and they could run until five in the
afternoon—practically ten hours of daylight.
It was a warm morning, and there was a fog in the valleys. The frost of
overnight had turned to patches of black damp upon the ploughed fields.
The roads were just moist enough to be treacherous.
There was no car ahead of number forty-eight within sight, and she
steamed away from Farmingdale in fine shape. Dan did not try to get any
particular speed out of her. Beyond Farmingdale the roads were rather
bad for some miles and there were many turns and twists in the way. He
feared to travel fast, for the wheels of the drab car could easily skid,
and bring them to grief.
Nevertheless, they beat out fifty-three miles in the first two hours.
Then they had to stop to feed her gasoline, and while Billy attended to
this duty Dan looked her over a little.
“See who’s coming!” exclaimed Billy, looking back as he tipped the
contents of the can into the tank.
“I see them. Chance has waked up. He’s going to pass us, I reckon, and
show us some fancy running.”
“Oh I don’t know,” grunted Billy. “They’re slowing down.”
“Huh!” said Dan. “All right there?”
“Yep.”
“Open her up a little more and we’ll see what we can do ourselves.”
He cranked up and then got into the car. Billy was already there. The
car started slowly. Then she stopped!
“What’s the matter now?” gasped Billy.
They heard the exhaust of number seven behind them. Billy leaped out on
one side; Dan on the other. They could find nothing the matter, but it
was a fact that the Breton-Melville had stopped dead.
Dan cranked up again and they were getting in when the car run by Chance
Avery and Burton Poole passed them slowly. The former was at the wheel;
the Speedwells could see his wide grin as he turned his begoggled face
toward them.
“Want a tow?” shouted Burton.
Dan waved his hand. He knew that there wasn’t an ounce of meanness in
Burton Poole.
“Let’s show those fellow——” began Billy and then—to their
amazement—their engine stopped again.
“Well, isn’t that the limit?” cried the younger Speedwell. “She never
acted so before.”
“That’s no reason why she shouldn’t begin,” said Dan, grimly. “We’ve
been lucky heretofore.”
“But what’s the matter with her?”
“If I knew I’d tell you,” returned Dan, and went to cranking again.
But this time the engine wouldn’t start at all. It was dead.
“Do you suppose anybody got at this machine while we were away from it?”
cried Billy.
“No. There were watchmen at the stables. I saw to that.”
“Chance was up and out mighty early,” said the unconvinced Billy.
“If he’d done anything to the mechanism it would have shown up before
now,” declared Dan.
But that there was something wrong there could be no doubt. They were
stalled for fifteen minutes, and then one of the other racing cars went
by.
“Get a horse!” the chauffeur yelled at them.
Billy was getting anxious. But that would not help them. For some reason
the engine would not work. They were stalled between towns and—as far as
the Speedwell brothers could see—there was something the matter with
their car that they could not correct.
“We might as well kiss our show for the gold cup ‘good-by’!” wailed
Billy. “And that Chance Avery will have the laugh on us. Did you see him
grin as he sailed by?”
Dan was thoughtful. He began to pay more attention to his brother’s
suspicion of Avery. The fellow did go by them as though he had expected
the breakdown and knew it would be a fatal one!
And Chance had held back in starting. It seemed that he wanted to be
behind the Speedwells and so overtake and enjoy their discomfiture. Dan
was not sure but that Billy was right.
What could Chance have done to the machine? Nothing! Dan was positive of
that. Not alone were there watchmen in the stableyard, but the young
fellow knew from his own examination that no part of the mechanism of
the car had been tampered with.
Yet Chance——
Dan suddenly turned on his heel and went to the gasoline tank. He opened
it; he looked in, he dipped in a stick and smelled of it. Then he opened
an auxiliary tank faucet, and let the fluid run upon the ground.
_It was water mixed with gasoline!_
Billy ran to him when he heard his cry of rage.
“What is it, Dan?” he asked, amazed by the look in his brother’s
countenance.
Dan was not often in a rage. When he was really angry it was well to
“stand from under,” as Billy expressed it.
And just now Dan was almost beside himself with sudden passion. He shut
off the faucet and sprang to the cans strapped on the running board of
the car. One after the other he opened. All water!
“The scoundrel! The blackguard!” cried Dan. “If I had him here I’d make
him drink the stuff. Oh, the rascal!”
Billy very quickly was made aware of the catastrophe. They were ten
miles from any gasoline supply station, without an ounce of the fluid,
and there was not a farmhouse, even, in sight. They could neither
telephone for a new supply, nor hire a wagon to bring it to them.
“It will take till noon to get any—noon at the earliest,” groaned Billy.
“Dan, we’ve lost all chance of winning Mr. Briggs’ trophy.”