MACHINES FOR BOB AND NED.
That night two very earnest lads implored two fathers to purchase
motor-cycles for them. As Bob and Ned were both sons of well-to-do
parents the matter was not much one of cost.
“To tell you the truth,” said Mr. Baker to Bob. “I’m a little afraid of
those machines. They are dangerous.”
“I’ll be careful,” pleaded Bob.
“I know, but that’s what every one says at first,” objected Mr. Baker.
At the same time the same sort of a conversation was going on in the
Slade household.
“You say there’s no danger,” Mr. Slade was remarking in answer to Ned’s
statement to that effect. “But I heard about Jerry Hopkins and his
experience this afternoon. It seems to me there was danger there.”
It was three days before the two fathers arrived at a decision. They
had consulted in the meanwhile, and Jerry’s machine had been closely
examined. Bob and Ned had both taken turns on it, and showed that, after
a little practice, they could run it perfectly. Jerry, also, had become
quite expert.
In the meantime the boys were so engrossed with the idea of motor-cycles
that they had almost forgotten about the mill robbery. They met,
according to appointment, under the tree in the woods, but there was
nothing new to tell. With the discovery of the queer bank bill, and the
knowledge that Paul Banner was saving it, the boys resolved to let the
matter rest for a while.
The police and detectives, and even the fussy sheriff, had discovered
nothing, save that the money was gone, which every one knew. As for
Noddy, he did not act like a guilty person. Bill Berry had disappeared
for the time being.
Noddy seemed to have plenty of money. He was careful not to apply to his
father again, however, and the source of his supply was a mystery except
to himself. In about a week Mr. Nixon, of his own accord, gave Noddy two
hundred dollars.
“I hope you will spend it wisely, my son,” he said. “It is wicked to
waste money, when so much good can be done with it.”
“I say, father,” began Bob to Mr. Baker one evening, a little more than
a week after the time Jerry had received his prize motor-cycle, “have
you thought any more about that machine for me?”
“I have made up my mind,” went on Mr. Baker, with exasperating slowness,
“that you can not--”
“Oh, father!” burst out Bob.
“That you can not get along without one,” finished the banker with a
laugh, “and so I have ordered one for you.”
“Thanks dad!” was all Bob could say, but the two words meant a good deal.
At the same time, according to arrangement between Mr. Baker and Mr.
Slade, the latter was announcing to his son Ned, that he could have the
much-wanted machine. If there were two happier boys than Ned and Bob in
Cresville that night, no one knew where to find them.
“We’ll have lots of sport,” said Bob. “I know of a dozen trips we can
take, that would be too long for a bicycle.”
Three days later the two motor-cycles came, and the chums could hardly
wait to unpack them. Bob’s and Ned’s machines were just like Jerry’s
except in a few minor points.
Jerry was delighted that his chums’ machines had arrived. He got his
own out and soon all three were speeding down the road. In point of
fastness there was not much to choose from among the three motors. None
of the boys had risked running the cycles at top speed yet, and at the
half-way mark each one developed about the same swiftness.
The boys rode for several miles. It was a pleasant day, with a bright
sun overhead, while an early morning shower had laid the dust. After an
hour’s travel Bob said:
“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m hungry.”
In a few minutes they stopped their motor-cycles in front of a big white
farm house, and walked up the path to the side door.
On the porch they found a motherly looking woman churning. She smiled at
the sight of the three boys, and took off her apron, which was splashed
with butter-milk, as she came forward to greet them.
“Good-afternoon,” she said pleasantly.
“We stopped to see if we could get something to eat,” began Jerry.
“We’re willing to pay for it, of course,” he added, fearing the woman
might think they were tramps. “Anything will do. Some cookies, a little
milk or a piece of pie.”
“I guess I can fix you something,” said the woman. “Hi! You Jason!” she
called in a loud voice. “Come and run this churn while I set out a lunch
for some visitors.”
In answer to her hail an old man shuffled around the corner of the house.
“I’m comin’,” he said in a quavering voice. “I’m a leetle mite slow,
’cause the rheumatiz catches me to-day, Alvirah. But I’m comin’.”
“It’s my grand uncle,” the woman explained to the boys. “He’s almost
ninety years old, but he can churn as good as I can. Can’t you, Jason.”
“I reckon so, Alvirah.”
While the farmer’s wife bustled around to set out a simple meal for the
boys, the latter sat out on the porch watching old Jason chum. He moved
the dasher up and down, a queer chugging sound following each stroke.
“How did you come, anyhow? Walk?” asked the old man presently.
“On motor-cycles,” replied Ned.
“I didn’t know they had them flyin’ machines in working order yit,”
exclaimed the old man.
“Come on, boys,” interrupted the farmer’s wife. “I have a little
something here for you.”
The “little something” proved to be quite a meal. There was nice fresh
bread, with the best butter the boys had ever eaten. There was also
honey right from the bee hives, some rich milk, a plate of doughnuts and
cheese, and two big pies, one apple and the other peach.
“This is very kind of you,” said Jerry. “We didn’t want you to go to all
this trouble.”
“I’m sure it’s no trouble,” replied the woman. “I’m glad you came along.
It’s rather lonesome out this way. We don’t often have company.”
The boys ate with a will. When they had finished there was not much left
on the table.
“How much do we owe you?” asked Jerry, as he and his chums rose in
preparation to continue their journey.
“Oh, I reckon ten cents will be about right,” was the answer. But Jerry
insisted on paying twenty-five cents for each, and, after some argument,
the woman accepted it.
Soon the boys were well on the road toward Cresville. They talked of
many things, and planned several trips in the near future. As they
turned into the main road leading to their homes they heard a chugging
sound behind them.
All three came to a halt, dismounted, and sat down under a tree. Nearer
and nearer came the sound of the approaching motor-cycle. Then, in a
cloud of dust, a solitary rider whizzed past.
“Did you see who that was?” asked Ned. “Noddy Nixon.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. I heard the other day that he was going to get a machine.
That was him, sure enough.”
“I don’t think he goes so very fast,” observed Jerry.
“He does, all the same,” was Bob’s opinion. “You can make up your mind
Noddy will have as fast a machine as there is built.”
“I suppose he bought it with some of the proceeds of the mill robbery,”
cried Jerry.
“Hush!” cried Ned. “Don’t say such things. Some one might hear you and
it would make trouble. Besides, we have not proved Noddy guilty yet.”
“Well,” said Bob with a shrug of his shoulders, “I hope we don’t meet
him very often when we are out on the road. He’s not the most pleasant
fellow in the world.”
“There’s not much danger of his seeking our company,” came from Jerry.
“He is not overfond of any of us.”
The three boys rested for a while beneath the tree and then, as the sun
sank, they mounted their cycles, put on good speed, and arrived home in
time for supper, bearing excellent appetites, in spite of the good meal
they had had at the farm house.