A DESPERATE RACE
“Well,” remarked Mr. Hitter, after a pause, during which the boys,
rather surprised at his conduct, stood staring at him, “well, why don’t
you look in my hip pocket. Maybe I’ve got a boat concealed there.”
“I didn’t mean to go at you with such a rush,” apologized Jerry. “But
you see—”
“That’s all right,” interrupted the freight agent. “Can I put my hands
down now? The blood’s all runnin’ out of ’em, an’ they feel as if they
was goin’ to sleep. That’ll never do, as I’ve got a lot of way-bills to
make out,” and he lowered his arms.
“Do you know anything about this?” asked Jerry, handing Mr. Hitter the
telegram.
“What’s that? The _Dartaway_ smashed!” the agent exclaimed, reading the
message. “Come now, that’s too bad! How did it happen?”
The boys explained how they had shipped the craft north.
“Of course the accident didn’t happen on the line of railroad I am
agent for,” said Mr. Hitter, after reading the telegram again. “If it
had, we’d be responsible.”
“What can we do?” asked Bob. “We want to get damages.”
“An’ I guess you’re entitled to ’em,” replied the agent. “Come on
inside, and I’ll tell you what to do. You’ll have to make a claim,
submit affidavits, go before a notary public and a whole lot of
rig-ma-role, but I guess, in the end you’ll get damages. They can’t
blame you because the boat was smashed. It’s too bad! I feel like I’d
lost an old friend.”
Mr. Hitter had had several rides in the _Dartaway_ for he had done the
boys many favors and they wished to return them, so he was given a
chance to get intimately acquainted with the speedy craft.
Taking the boys into his office, Mr. Hitter instructed them how to
write a letter to the claim department of the Florida Coast Railway,
demanding damages for the smashing of the boat.
“Be respectful, but put it good and strong,” he said. “I’ll write on my
own account to the general freight agent. He’s a friend of mine, and we
have business dealings together—that is his road and my road,” and Mr.
Hitter spoke as though he owned the line of which he was the Cresville
agent.
“That’ll be good,” said Bob. “Maybe it will hurry matters up. We’re
much obliged to you, Mr. Hitter.”
“That’s what we are,” chimed in Jerry and Ned.
The boys lost no time in sending in their claim. Then there was nothing
to do but to wait. They knew it would take some days, and they did not
expect an answer in less than a week, while Mr. Hitter told them that
if they got money in payment for the destroyed boat within three months
they would be lucky.
“Well, since the _Dartaway’s_ gone, I guess we’ll have to go back to
the automobile for a change,” suggested Jerry one afternoon, early in
September, about a week before school was to open. “Let’s take a little
jaunt out in the country, stay a couple of days, and come back, all
ready to pitch in and study.”
“Fine!” cried Bob. “We’ll stay at a hotel where they have good
dinners—”
“Of course!” retorted Ned. “That’s Chunky’s first idea—something to
eat. I’ve been waiting for him to say something like that.”
The boys were at Jerry’s house, talking over various matters. The auto
was kept in an unused barn back of his home, but, since the advent of
the motor boat, had not seen much service, though occasionally the boys
went out in it. Now, it was likely to come into active use again.
“Let’s look the machine over,” proposed Jerry. “It may need some
repairs. It got pretty hard usage, especially in our trips to Mexico
and across the plains.”
The boys soon found that, beyond two tires which needed repairs, and
some minor adjustments to the engine, the car was in good shape. It was
in running order and, at Bob’s suggestion, they got in it and made a
trip to the town garage, where they intended to leave it to be
overhauled.
As they were turning a corner, near the automobile shop, they heard a
sudden “Honk-honk!” that startled them. Jerry, who was at the steering
wheel, shut off the power and applied the emergency brake.
And it was only just in time for, a moment later, from a cross street,
there shot out a big green touring car, very powerful, as they could
tell by the throbbing of the engine. It almost grazed the mudguards of
the machine in which the three boys were, and, skidded dangerously.
Then, with what seemed an impudent, warning toot of the horn, it swung
around and sped off down the road.
“That was a close shave!” remarked Jerry, as he released the brake.
“I should say yes,” agreed Bob. “That was a six-cylinder car.
Bur-r-r-r! If she’d hit us—” He did not finish, but the boys knew what
he meant.
They proceeded to the garage, leaving their machine to be repaired. It
would be ready for them the next day, the man said, and they arranged
to call for it, and go for a trip in the country.
“Let’s go to Riverton,” suggested Bob, naming a summer resort about a
hundred miles away. “The season is just about to close there, and, as
it isn’t crowded, we can get better attention and—”
“Better meals, he means,” finished Ned. “All right, Chunky, we’ll go.”
“It wouldn’t be a bad idea,” agreed Jerry. “We could make it in one day
easily, and wouldn’t have to hurry. We could stay there a couple of
days, making little side strips, and come back Saturday. That would put
us in good shape for Monday, when school opens.”
There was no dissension from this plan, and, having secured the consent
of their parents, the boys, early the next day, started off on their
journey. It was a short one, compared to those they had been in the
habit of taking, but they did not have time for a longer jaunt.
They arrived at Riverton in the afternoon, having stopped on the road
for dinner. They found the place rather livelier than they expected,
for there had been an automobile meet the day previous, including a big
race, and several lovers of the sport still remained, for the weather
was very pleasant. The sheds about the hotel were filled with all sorts
of cars, so that the boys had hardly room to store their machine.
“This is a little more exciting than we counted on,” remarked Jerry, as
he and his chums entered the hotel to register. “I’m afraid we’ll not
get such good attention as Bob thought.”
“Oh, it’s all the better,” was the answer of the stout youth. “They’ll
have all the more to eat, with this crowd here.”
“Chunky can argue it any way he likes,” declared Ned. “No use trying to
corner him, Jerry.”
“No, I guess not. But I’m hungry enough to eat almost anything.”
As they were turning away from the clerk’s desk, having been assigned
to rooms, the boys saw a youth, about their own age, standing near a
bulletin board fastened on the side wall. The youth was tacking up a
notice and, as he turned, having finished, Jerry exclaimed in a
whisper:
“Noddy Nixon! What’s he doing here?”
At the same moment, Noddy, the long-time enemy of the motor boys, saw
them. His face got red, and he swung quickly aside to avoid speaking to
the three chums.
The last they had seen of the bully was when he started to accompany
them back to Cresville, after his disastrous attempt to make money from
a Florida cocoanut grove. Noddy was wanted as a witness by the
government authorities, in connection with the attempted wreck of a
vessel, in which Bill Berry was concerned; but, after the motor boys
had rescued Noddy from an unpleasant position in Florida, and he had
agreed to return to Cresville, he suddenly disappeared in the night.
This was the first they had seen of him since. They had learned that
the government no longer desired his testimony.
“Let’s see what notice he put up,” suggested Ned. “Maybe he has lost
something.”
They walked over to the bulletin board. There, in Noddy’s rather poor
handwriting, was a challenge. It was to the effect that he would race,
on the track near the hotel, any automobilist who would choose to
compete with him, for money, up to five hundred dollars, or merely for
fun.
“Noddy must have a new car,” remarked Ned. “His old one couldn’t go for
a cent. We beat it several times.”
“What’s the matter with trying again?” asked Jerry, a light of
excitement coming into his eyes. “I’d like to have a race. Maybe
several cars will enter, and we can have some fun out of it. Our
machine has a lot of ‘go’ left in it yet.”
“That’s the stuff!” exclaimed Bob. “I’m with you. But let’s get supper
first, maybe—”
“I guess he’s afraid there won’t be any left,” remarked Jerry. “But
come on, I can eat a bit myself.”
As the boys left the office of the hotel, they saw several men reading
the notice Noddy had tacked up.
“A race on this circular track here!” exclaimed one man to a friend as
the boys passed him. “It’s very risky! The turns are not banked enough.
I wouldn’t do it, but I suppose some will take the chance.”
“Yes, it will be a dangerous race,” responded the other. “Who is this
Noddy Nixon?”
“A son of that rich Nixon over in Cresville, I believe. His father made
a lot of money in stocks lately, and, I guess the son is helping spend
it. He has a powerful car.”
The motor boys did not stay to hear more, but went to their rooms to
change their clothes, and were soon eating supper. There was talk of
nothing but automobile topics in the hotel corridors and office that
evening. Many motorists were planning to leave the next day, but some
said they would stay and see if the Nixon race would amount to
anything.
“Let’s accept the challenge,” suggested Jerry.
“I don’t want to have anything to do with Noddy,” objected Ned.
“We don’t have to,” replied Bob, “I was talking to the clerk about it.
All we have to do is register our names, and the name of the car. It’s
an informal affair, only for fun. They won’t race for money. Come on,
let’s go in it.”
Hearing this, Ned agreed, and the boys put their names down. As Noddy
had stipulated there must be four passengers in each car it would
necessitate the motor boys getting some one else to ride with them.
This the clerk agreed to arrange.
There were six entries in the race, which was to take place the next
day. Early in the morning, before breakfast, Ned, Jerry and Bob went
out in their car to try the course. When they were half way around it
they heard a car coming behind them. In a moment it had passed them,
and they recognized it as the same machine that had nearly collided
with them in Cresville.
“Look who’s in it!” cried Bob.
“Who?” asked Ned.
“Noddy Nixon. If that’s his car, we haven’t any show.”
“Humph! I’m afraid not,” answered Jerry rather ruefully. “Still, I’m
not going to give up now. He’s got a new car, but maybe we can beat
him. He’s a poor driver.”
Several other autos soon appeared on the track to have a “tryout,” and,
though none of them seemed as speedy as Noddy’s new machine, there was
no talk of dropping out on the part of those who had entered. That gave
the boys more courage, and they decided to stick, even though their
chances were not good.
Noddy did not speak to them, though he passed them several times. Nor
did he appear very popular with the other autoists. He had several
young men with him, and they made things rather lively about the hotel,
occasionally giving what seemed to be college yells.
“They’re regular ‘rah-rah’ boys,” said Bob, in contempt.
Early that afternoon just before the race Bob, Jerry and Ned spent an
hour in going over their car, making some adjustments, and seeing that
the tires were in good shape. Almost at the last minute Jerry decided
to put the non-skidding chains on the rear wheels.
“Those turns, which are not banked much, are dangerous,” he said, “I’m
not going to take any chances. We don’t want to turn turtle.”
There was much activity about the hotel as the hour for the contest
arrived. Noddy’s car seemed the finest of the six that lined up at the
starting tape. The motor boys had drawn a position next to the bully
and his cronies.
Noddy glanced contemptuously at them.
“You must think it’s winter, putting chains on,” he remarked to Jerry,
who had been chosen to steer.
“It may be a cold day for somebody before we get through,” was all
Jerry replied.
“You haven’t the ghost of a show,” called one of Noddy’s companions.
“You’ll think you’re standing still when we start.”
The others laughed at this joke, and Noddy seemed pleased. There was a
short consultation among the judges and other officials, and, a moment
later, a white puff of smoke was seen hovering above the uplifted
revolver of the starter. Then came a sharp crack, and the panting
machines, the engines of which had been put in motion some time
previous, started off together, as the drivers threw in the high speed
gears.
The race, which was truly a dangerous contest, was on, and, with eager
eyes the motor boys looked ahead on the course.