AN UNLUCKY BLOWOUT
“Easy marks, that’s what we are,” commented Ned, as with his chums and
Professor Snodgrass, he sat down to dinner. “Very easy marks.”
“It might have happened to anyone,” declared Jerry. “But it sure does
make me sore to think how he cheated us on that calf deal.”
They were still talking of Mr. Sackett, and, as the account of the
happening became generally known in the hotel, many stories showing the
meanness of the miserly farmer were told to our heroes. Mr. Sackett was
characterized as a “skinflint” of the worst kind.
They started off again, soon after dinner, and made up for the time
lost over the calf transaction by speeding up to the limit allowed by
the law, and, in places where there were particularly good roads, and
where there were no houses, they even exceeded the limit slightly. But
their necessity justified it.
“Think we’ll make Durham before dark, Jerry?” asked Bob, as he noticed
the sun beginning to sink low in the west. “How much farther is it?”
“The last sign-post said thirty miles,” remarked Ned, “but if it’s
anything like the usual post, that means it will be at least forty
before we strike Durham.”
“In that case we won’t get in until after dark,” was Jerry’s opinion.
“But we have powerful gas lamps, and it won’t matter much. Here, Ned,
you take the wheel a bit, I’m tired.”
The machine was stopped while the change was made, and they went on
again. Jerry cast several anxious glances at a bank of clouds gathering
in the west, and Bob, also noting them, remarked:
“I think we’re in for a storm.”
“Shouldn’t wonder,” agreed the tall lad. “Hit her up for all she’s
worth, Ned. Take a few chances. I don’t believe there’ll be any
speed-constables out now.”
It soon became evident that they were not going to make Durham before
nightfall. In fact, after passing one post by which they were informed
that their destination was thirty miles farther on, the next one made
it thirty-two.
“Say, according to that we’re going backward,” commented Ned.
“Don’t mind,” advised Jerry. “Keep right on, and when we arrive we’ll
be there.”
“Wise man,” asserted Bob with a laugh.
The threatened storm gathered more quickly as the afternoon waned,
and they had not gone many more miles before the rumbling of thunder
increased, and the intermittent flashes of lightning became almost
continuous.
“We’re going to be in for it,” warned Bob, as the first few splashes of
rain came.
“Yes, we’d better stop, put up the top, and the side curtains,” advised
Ned. “I want the wind shield up, too, for I don’t like the rain in my
face.”
They were soon better prepared to stand the downpour which quickly
came, and with the heavy curtains and the top up, they were fairly snug
and comfortable in the auto, as it chugged off through the darkness.
“Ugh!” suddenly grunted Ned, as he felt the wheels leave the hard
macadam road, and slip into the soft mud of a dirt highway. “Now we’re
in for it.”
The auto labored on, losing time as the rain turned the highway into
a veritable slough. The downpour got heavier, and a wind springing
up, seemed to force the water through every crack and crevice of the
protecting curtains. The lightning, too, was incessant, and the thunder
claps came with startling rapidity.
“Beautiful! Beautiful!” grumbled Bob. “It’ll soon be as black as tar,
and we’ll get stuck ten miles from nowhere.”
“Oh, don’t find fault,” advised Jerry good-naturedly. “We may make it
yet.”
Ned peered anxiously ahead through the mist of rain, seeking to make
out the road, which was illuminated by the powerful gas lamps. It
was risky driving, but there was no help for it, and he was not well
acquainted with the route.
“Can’t you get a little more speed out of her?” asked Jerry, when there
came a lull in the storm.
“I’m afraid to risk it,” replied the youthful steersman. “If we
happen to hit a big stone it will be all up with us. Wow! This is
Lonesomeville for fair!”
They were on a dark and deserted stretch of the road. There seemed to
be no houses within miles, and the storm was at its height.
Suddenly there was a sound like a gun shot. The motor boys started, but
well they knew what it was.
“A blowout!” groaned Bob.
“I should say it was,” agreed Jerry grimly. “It couldn’t have happened
at a worse time, either. Where in the world are we?”
He peered through a crack in the curtains, out on the dismal
rain-soaked blackness, but could make out nothing.
“Well, there’s no help for it. It’s up to us to put a new shoe and tube
on,” spoke Ned, who had quickly brought the car to a stop. Then the
three lads, having donned rubber coats, which fortunately they carried
with them, got out of the car, and stood in the mud, with the rain
pelting them, while they made ready to repair the damaged tire.