THE RIDE TO BOSTON.
Ned found Mr. Wakefield, the athletic instructor, in the gymnasium of
the club house. The boy hastily told him of the trouble, not however
mentioning Jack’s name.
“And, Mr. Wakefield,” said Ned, in great distress, “if we can’t get
those carburetor parts we can’t race.”
“I’ll do all I can to help you,” said Mr. Wakefield. “Take my machine
and welcome.”
Ned really had quite a task before him. It was a long ride to Boston,
and there would be no moon. Besides the roads were not of the best. It
was after four o’clock when he secured Mr. Wakefield’s machine, and a
half hour was lost in oiling it up, and seeing that it was in shape for
the lengthy trip.
“I do not know whether to let you go or not,” said Mr. Slade, when Ned
broached the subject to him.
“I really must go, father,” and Ned spoke so earnestly that Mr. Slade
was more than half persuaded.
“Well, I suppose it is hard to have to think of giving up the race,” he
said at length. “And it seems to be the only way to do. So you may go,
but be very careful.”
“I will,” promised Ned.
He prepared himself for the trip, and was about to start from his house,
where he had taken Mr. Wakefield’s machine, when Bob and Jerry came
along. They had wheeled their motors to their houses, and brought Ned’s
with them.
“Are you off?” asked Jerry.
“Just ready to start,” was the reply.
“You ought to be able to get the parts in any automobile store,” said
Jerry. “The only bad feature of the trip will be coming home. I wish I
was going along.”
“Well, I haven’t any time to lose,” said Ned, “so here goes!”
He leaped into the saddle, started the machine off by means of the
pedals and soon was puffing down the road.
The start was made about half past five o’clock, on a pleasant
afternoon. The sun shone through a hazy mist, and, though it had been
warm, it was cooler now. Because it was of an earlier pattern, Mr.
Wakefield’s machine was not as speedy as any of the boys’, and Ned
realized he would have to be longer on the journey than if he had his
own fast motor.
“But I’m in luck to be able to get any machine at all,” he said to
himself.
For the first ten miles Ned had no trouble, as he was familiar with the
road. He had been riding over an hour when he came to a small village
which, he learned by inquiry, was thirty miles from the big city.
He rode out of the little town, and then, coming to a place where
several roads branched off was puzzled which one to take, as there was
no sign posts. No house was near and no one seemed to be traveling.
“I’ll take the middle road,” thought Ned. “It’s trusting to chance, but
it’s all I can do.”
He had ridden perhaps four miles when he met a farmer driving a bony
horse attached to a dilapidated wagon. Poor, thin and old as the horse
was it seemed frightened at the sight of the machine, and inclined to
rear on its hind legs and bolt.
“Is this the road to Boston?” asked Ned, knowing he had little time to
waste in talk, however pleasant it might be.
“Wa’al ye kin git to it this way, but it’ll take ye a long time. Ye’re
going in a opposite direction. Ye’d oughter taken the left hand road
back there at the forks.”
“Thanks,” said Ned, briefly, turning his machine in readiness to go back
and take the right road.
“Hold on! Maybe I can make some kind of a trade with ye for that
threshing machine ye got!” called the old man, but Ned, with a friendly
wave of his hand, started back to regain the right road.
He resolved to be more careful next time in taking roads where there
was more than one. So, when he again reached places where the highways
diverged he waited until some one came along, or he went back to the
last house he had passed, and inquired.
He rode on for two hours longer. It was getting a little dusky now
because of the clouds, and Ned began to fear he was in for a storm. He
wished he was at his destination, for, if worst came to worst, he could
stay in Boston all night, and start back in the morning. But he soon
saw evidences that he was nearing some large city. Houses became more
frequent, and every now and then he would pass through some settlement
or good sized suburb. Then, off in the distance, he descried the Hub
City.
“There’s Boston!” he cried. “Now for an automobile or motor store.”
Getting on to good roads he speeded his machine up as fast as it would
go, which was not overly rapid, and was soon riding through the streets
of the historic city.
He kept his eyes open, and presently saw an automobile shop. The man was
just closing up.
“Wait a minute!” called Ned. “Hold on! I want to get something!”
“You’ll have to be quick,” said the man.
Ned lost no time in telling what he desired.
“Here’s what you want,” said the dealer. “We got some new ones in
to-day.”
“Thanks,” said Ned fervently, as he paid for the articles. He stowed the
precious parts safely away in his pockets. Then he began to think of
supper. It was nearly ten o’clock, but he found a small restaurant open,
and made a hasty meal. Then, lighting his own acetylene gas lamp, which
he had brought along in place of the oil affair Mr. Wakefield carried,
the boy prepared for his homeward trip.
This was a very different thing from riding along in the afternoon
and early evening. If he was in doubt of a road he could find plenty
of persons to ask. But after dark every one seemed to go to bed, as
he noticed when he passed from the immediate Boston suburbs into the
country. Several times Ned had to get off his machine and, with his lamp
for a torch, hunt around for a sign post to tell him which road to take.
Once he came to where three roads divided. He could find no friendly
pointing finger to tell him which one to take, and there was not a house
in sight. The last residence he had passed was half a mile back. He did
not relish going on the wrong highway until he met some one to set him
right, nor did he want to retrace his journey.
“If only some one would come along now,” he murmured.
By dint of making inquiries at many farm houses Ned managed to cover
about twenty miles of his homeward trip. Then, as it grew later, the
friendly lights that shone from the lonely road-side residences went
out, and Ned began to think his trip was going to be a rather unpleasant
one at the close, although it was still fairly clear. He did not like
to awaken people up to ask them about the road, and it was evident that
nearly every one in the country had gone to rest.
It was very dark. His gas lamp gave a brilliant thread of light
directly in front of him, but that was all. It was quiet, also, save
for the chug-chug of his motor. Now and then an owl would hoot, and the
sound, strange and weird, seemed to chill Ned’s blood, though he knew
what it was.
Once again the old trouble of coming to two roads, and not knowing which
to follow, confronted him. It was close to midnight, and the country was
so deserted that for the last two miles he had not passed a house. Nor
did he know how far in advance he might have to go before reaching one.
“Shall I go to the right or left?” Ned asked himself. “I’ll trust to
luck, I’ll toss a stone up, and take the road it falls nearest to.”
He had dismounted from his wheel, and, standing at the fork of the
roads, tossed a pebble into the air. It fell on the left path.
“The left it is!” He got on his machine, rode about a quarter of a mile,
and then, with a loud noise his rear tire burst. It came with such
suddenness and gave Ned such a shock that he nearly tumbled from the
motor.
“Here’s luck!” he exclaimed. He quickly discovered that the break was a
bad enough one to mend in daylight to say nothing of attempting it in
the darkness.
“I guess I’m booked to stay here all night,” the boy said. “If I could
find a farm house near by I’d ask to stay there.”
But he did not feel like pushing the heavy motor along the road in a
search.
“It’s warm, and I can stay out all night,” Ned thought. “I’d like to get
in shelter though.”
He paused in the middle of the dark road and looked about him. Off to
the left were fields.
“Looks like a lot of hay in that meadow,” he told himself. “If it is
that will be just the thing to crawl into and go to sleep.” He walked
closer and peered at the dark objects that had attracted his attention.
He climbed the fence, and discovered that his surmise was right.
Pulling and hauling the motor he got it through the bars. Then,
selecting a big mound of the fragrant dried grass, Ned made a hole in
it, crawled in, curled up and, in spite of his queer bed, was soon sound
asleep.