and to Dan alone.

But only one of the partners thanked Dan. Burton Poole wrung his hand
and clapped him on the shoulder, and told him he was “a good fellow.”
But Avery kept his face averted and examined the damage done to the
automobile with lowering brow.

“It will have to go to the shop,” growled Chance, and would say no more.

Dan and Billy went home on their motorcycles and found that already Mr.
Speedwell had put in several hours upon the auto. They were able to
hitch Bob and Betty to a truck and drag the car, on its own wheels, down
to the Darringford shops. There they delivered it to Mr. Hardy with the
expectation that in a day or two, at the latest, they would be riding in
their own machine.

They were busy making up lost recitations for several days. And when
they went down to the shops to inquire about the machine they found
nothing done to it. A big rush of extra work was on, they were informed.
The repair gang couldn’t get at the drab racer.

This began to bother the Speedwells after they had called twice and
found nothing done. Then they saw Chance Avery and Burton Poole running
about town again in their machine. It had been repaired, and repainted,
and was as bright as though new.

The brothers noticed this fact about Burton Poole’s machine one evening
when they attended a business and social meeting of the Riverdale Outing
Club. Chance Avery, who was still president and captain of the club,
despite his unpopularity with the majority of the members, seemed to
feel amused on this evening whenever he looked at Dan or Billy
Speedwell.

During the social hour Jim Stetson and his sister, Ruth, invited a few
friends to run up to their uncle’s cottage at Karnac Lake. The last time
the Stetsons had had a party at the lodge it was something of a failure
because of certain incidents that attended the run.

“We certainly are not going to chance the risk of being chased by elks
and letting Mildred get lost in the Big Swamp,” chattered Ruth, with her
arm around the waist of the doctor’s daughter. “We’re going in cars. The
Greenes will go, and we depend upon you, Burton, to bring a part of the
crowd. And let’s see—oh, yes, you, Dan Speedwell! You and Billy have a
car?”

“So we suppose,” returned Dan, rather ruefully. “It’s being put in shape
now; but your party isn’t until next week Friday, is it?”

“That is the time,” said Ruth Stetson. “I am going to ask you to bring
Milly here, and Lettie Parker, and Kate O’Brien and Maybell Turner,
beside two of the boys. Can you do it?”

“Why, the car will hold that number,” said Dan, quietly. “I think we
shall not fail you.”

Chance lounged near, with his hands in his pockets and there was a
sneering smile on his face.

“Aren’t you counting chickens before they’re hatched, Speedwell?” he
suggested. “You don’t know whether that broken-down car of yours is
going to run at all, do you?”

“Oh, I guess she will be all right when they get through with her down
at Darringfords,” returned Dan, easily.

“That car will never be fixed in those shops,” remarked Chance.

“Who says so?” demanded Billy, hotly.

“I say so,” snarled Chance. “I know all about it. The car isn’t worth
repairing in the first place. It’s too badly wrecked. You Speedwells
might as well go down and take your ramshackle old car home again.”

“Biff” Hardy caught Dan by the sleeve as he and Billy were going out.

“What is it?” asked the older Speedwell.

“You’d better mark what Chance told you, old man,” whispered Hardy.

“What do you mean?” asked Dan, in surprise.

“You just think he’s gassin’, do you?”

“What else can it be? What has he to do with the Darringford shops?”

“Well, you must admit,” said Biff, with a broad grin on his freckled
face, “that Frank Avery has something to do with the shops.”

“Naturally. He’s superintendent.”

“And I only know what father said. He’s worried about it. Burton Poole’s
car came in to be repaired and repainted after your car was on the
floor. Dad had to drop everything else and fix up Poole’s car. But the
Super forbade his touching your machine. It stands right there yet, and
Avery says that no more outside repairing can be done for a month.”

“Not until after the thousand mile run!” gasped Dan.

                              CHAPTER XVII

                            A FRIEND IN NEED

The Speedwell boys went home in no very pleasant frame of mind.
Heretofore they had experienced sufficient trouble through Chance Avery
and his brother to know that the superintendent of the Darringford shops
was quite capable of giving Chance great help in his attempt to “get
even” with anybody whom he disliked.

And neither Chance nor Francis Avery could ever forgive the Speedwell
boys for beating Chance in the manufacturers’ motorcycle races held at
the Riverdale Baseball Park not long before. Chance had been picked by
the superintendent of the Darringford shops to ride a Flying Feather,
and carry the colors of the local shops to victory. But at the last
moment Dan Speedwell, likewise riding one of the Darringfords’ machines,
had beaten out the field and left Chance sadly in the rear.

“And they are going to make it impossible—if they can—for us to do
anything to Chance and Burton in this endurance test of autos that Mr.
Briggs is financing,” grumbled Billy. “Oh, pshaw, Dan! What makes folks
so mean?”

“I don’t know. We’ll ask Doc Bugs,” laughed Dan, referring to one of the
academy instructors who was very much inclined to harp upon the microbe
theory, and bacilli. “There’s something mean got into Chance, and his
brother’s caught it. That’s all I know about it.”

“But we’re not going to let them beat us so easy,” growled Billy.

“Not so’s you’d notice it,” agreed the older brother.

“What will we do?”

“First we’ll go over to the shops to-morrow and find out just where we
stand.”

“But if they won’t fix the auto there, what will we do? We can’t cart
the machine clear to Compton, and it would cost a mint of money to have
men from the manufacturing plant come here to make repairs.”

“We’ll see,” said Dan. “Let’s sleep over it.”

That was like Dan; he always thought a thing out by himself. Billy, more
impulsive and ready to discuss a point, found his brother sometimes
exasperating. It kept him “guessing,” he complained; he never knew just
what Dan would finally do.

He was not surprised, however, the next afternoon after the second
session, that Dan should head for the Darringford shops instead of
taking wheel for home. They came to the small gate in the stockade-fence
that surrounded the machine shops, spoke to the gate-keeper, and went in
to the repair department. When Mr. Hardy saw them in the doorway he
looked slightly discomposed. In truth his somewhat smutted face changed
color.

“Sorry, boys,” he said, hurrying toward them; “we haven’t had a chance
to touch your machine yet. Hurried to death.”

“Of course, your outside jobs take their regular turn, don’t they, Mr.
Hardy?” asked Dan, smoothly.

“Oh, of course! Er—that is—it’s the general rule.”

“Then no other outside job has been put in ahead of ours?”

“Why—now——”

“What do those fellows want?” asked a sharp voice suddenly, and Dan and
Billy turned to see the superintendent of the shops eyeing them with
disfavor.

Mr. Hardy waved the boys toward Mr. Avery.

“You’ll have to talk to him, boys,” he said. “I haven’t anything to do
with it.”

“What are they bothering you about, Hardy?” demanded the superintendent.

“We have been waiting some days for our automobile to be fixed, Mr.
Avery,” said Dan, firmly.

“And you’ll wait a few days longer, I guess,” said the man,
unpleasantly.

“But we are in a hurry, and the understanding was——”

“With whom did you have any understanding when you brought that car
here?” interrupted Avery.

“Mr. Hardy.”

“And if he told you that he could put aside our regular work for outside
jobs, he overstepped his bounds.”

“He told us nothing of the kind,” said Dan, quickly. “He only said our
car should have precedence over other outside work that might come in.”

“Well, it will,” said Avery, with a laugh.

“It hasn’t,” exclaimed Dan, sharply.

“What’s that?”

“Since our machine was brought here Burton Poole’s has been repaired and
repainted. Ours hasn’t been touched.”

“Look here, young saucebox!” exclaimed Avery, in a passion, “Who told
you to come here and tell me my business? Your car will wait its turn——”

“You gave its turn to Poole’s car,” declared Dan, stubbornly. “You know
you did. You do not mean that our car shall be repaired.”

Somebody had stopped quietly behind them. A stern voice said:

“What’s the matter, Avery?”

“Mr. Robert!” exclaimed Billy.

Robert Darringford stood there, his automobile coat thrown back, his
Norfolk jacket unbelted, and cap and goggles pushed back from his
pleasant face. He was just drawing off his gauntlets.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Avery?” he repeated, as the flaming face of the
superintendent was turned toward him.

“These young rascals have become impudent!” declared the superintendent.
“I’ve told you before, Mr. Robert, that I consider your attitude toward
these Speedwells as utterly wrong——”

“Come, come,” said the younger Darringford, good-naturedly enough, yet
with a tone of voice that halted Avery in his headlong speech. “Let’s
get at the trouble. Of course, Dan and Billy are my friends. I have told
you that several times.”

“And they presume upon your notice of them,” declared the
superintendent. “Your undignified treatment of them gives them a license
which they abuse.”

“And how have they abused my kindness now?” queried Darringford,
gravely.

“They have brought us an old, ramshackle car here to be patched up. You
know Hardy’s department is working overtime. All outside work must take
its chance. We cannot do this now.”

“And the boys are impatient, are they?” demanded Darringford, smiling,
however, quite kindly upon Dan and Billy.

“When we brought our car here, the shop was not so busy,” said Dan,
interrupting. “Mr. Avery knows that. He has had a car repaired here
since ours has stood on the floor.”

“How is this, Avery?” asked Mr. Robert, sharply.

“The boy tells an untruth,” snapped the other. Then, thinking better of
it, he added: “Or, at least, I know nothing about it. I only know that
Burton Poole had a machine here to be fixed, and I ordered Hardy to get
it out of the way.”

“And why not this one?” queried Mr. Robert, pointing to the drab car.

“Well——”

“Chance is driving Poole’s car, isn’t he?” asked Mr. Robert, with marked
emphasis.

“Well, sir! You know yourself we are over-driven here!” cried Avery, in
despair of clearing his skirts completely of the ugly charge of
favoritism.

“Quite true. We will excuse you, Mr. Avery. I will attend to the
Speedwells’ car,” said the young proprietor of the shops.

He turned his back on his superintendent—not without a little bow,
however—and said pleasantly to Dan:

“Now, young man, as spokesman for you and your brother, tell me how you
came in possession of a Breton-Melville car, this year’s type, racing
rig, and apparently one that has been misused, at that?”

Dan laughed. Mr. Robert’s keen eye was not to be mistaken. One would not
have thought that he had more than glanced casually at the wreck of
Maxey Solomons’ automobile.

But between them (for Billy was bound to put in a word here and there)
the Speedwells told him of their good fortune in obtaining possession of
the wrecked car. Mr. Robert grew more and more interested. He began to
take off his coat, and his cap and auto-goggles followed. Mr. Avery
waited in the near distance, covertly watching the “young boss.”

“It’s a great chance for you, boys!” declared Mr. Robert. “Why, do you
know, I’m going to enter for Briggs’ endurance test myself. I believe
I’ve got a car that can even beat out a Breton-Melville,” and his eyes
twinkled. “But it would be too bad if your car wasn’t ready in time, so
that we could find out just how good a machine it is.”

“We mean to get it repaired somehow,” said Dan, firmly. “If not here——”

“And why not here?” demanded Mr. Robert. He glanced quickly around and
began to strip off his Norfolk jacket. “Hey, Hardy! Have you got an
extra suit of overalls anywhere about? I want ’em.”

“Sure, Mr. Robert,” declared the foreman, coming briskly forward.

“What Mr. Avery says is quite true, boys,” declared young Darringford,
seriously. “This department is driven to death. But then—I’m sort of an
outsider and I’m not driven to death. I’m going to shuck my coat, and
get into these duds—that’s it, Hardy! thank you—and then we’ll see what
is the matter with the vitals of that machine. Mr. Avery,” he added,
with a humorous twist of his lips, “won’t mind if I use the tools here
to repair your machine. I am rather a privileged character myself about
the shops. But you know, Dan and Billy, we always back up our foremen
and superintendent; and it is quite true that the men are too busy to do
your work at present.”

                             CHAPTER XVIII

                       ON THE ROAD TO KARNAC LAKE

The Speedwell boys could have imagined no better outcome of this affair.
Yet they were both too independent to have courted Mr. Robert’s
attention and complained to him of the unfair treatment they had
received at the hands of the superintendent of the shops.

As for the car itself, the boys knew very well that they could leave
their Breton-Melville in no better hands. Mr. Robert, though
college-bred, had put on overalls and worked every summer in the shops
since he was fifteen years of age. He was a finished mechanic. That is
why his men respected and liked him so much.

Dan and Billy retired, full of glee over the turn matters had taken.
Their car would be put in order—in first-class order—and they need have
no fear but that the work would be done promptly. In fact, the first of
the week Mr. Robert sent word to them that they could take the car home.

They settled their bill at the office like any other customer, and it
was no small one. They doubted if Mr. Robert had charged them much for
his own time; but the repairs cost over eighty dollars. When they ran
the car out of the yard the enamel paint was scarcely dry. But the
mechanism worked like that of a fine watch!

Were they proud as they sped swiftly through the Riverdale streets?
Well!

There was nothing beautiful about the drab car, saving her lines. She
was neither a touring car nor one built for show. But Mr. Robert had
assured them that he had never gone over and assembled the parts of a
finer piece of auto work than this same Breton-Melville car.

“I shall have to look out for my own laurels, I very well see,” laughed
the acting head of the Darringford shops. “And Mr. Briggs himself will
have to get the best there is out of his Postlethwaite if he expects to
beat you boys in that endurance test.”

So Dan and Billy had reason for feeling proud of their car, although it
had few of the attractive qualities of the usual auto. It was plainly
furnished, and there was not so much brass work as on most cars. As it
sped along, to the observer from the sidewalk it had the appearance of
being stripped down to the very skeleton of a car.

The Stetson’s run to Karnac Lake was arranged for Friday afternoon,
immediately after the close of classes. Dan and Billy were hard-working
boys, both in school and on the dairy farm; they had to arrange their
schedule, as Billy said, with considerable care to be able to accompany
their friends on this run to the cottage in the woods.

Karnac Lake was a beautiful spot, some fifty miles up the river, and the
road was a good automobile path all the way. Burton Poole and Chance
Avery were boasting of having “done it” in an hour and a half.

“If they can do it in that time, in that machine of Burton’s,” declared
Dan Speedwell, after they had tried out their Breton-Melville car for
two evenings along the county pike, “we can do as well. Take my word for
it, Billy.”

“I believe you,” agreed his brother.

“Then we won’t leave it all for dad to do on Saturday morning,” Dan
said. “We can run back, help him milk, take our routes as usual, and
then race back to Karnac and get there by mid-forenoon again.”

“Agreed!” said Billy. “I wish we had motor-wagons to use in distributing
the milk, anyway. Wouldn’t that be a great scheme?”

“All to the good. But one motor-wagon would do it. We could get over
both routes in less time than it takes us to deliver one route with a
horse.”

“It’s us for a motor-truck, then,” cried Billy.

“I’ve got a scheme,” said Dan, slowly. “Maybe it won’t work; and then
again——”

“What is it?” asked Billy, eagerly.

“I don’t know as I’ll tell you just yet,” said Dan, grinning at him.

And just then something called Billy away—some duty or other—and he
forgot later to ask Dan to explain his tantalizing statement.

The Speedwells made their preparations well in advance, and between
sessions Friday noon ran home on their Flying Feathers and came back to
town in their Breton-Melville car. They backed it into Holliday’s
garage, where it would come to no harm during the afternoon, and as soon
as school was over they ran to the garage, filled up their tank,
strapped a spare five gallon can of gasoline on the running board, as
well as a pair of extra tires (that had cost them a pretty penny) in
their enamel-cloth covers, and ran out on the street.

Dan guided the car around to Mildred’s house, where the girls and boys
who were to ride with them had agreed to assemble. The doctor’s daughter
with Lettie and Kate and Maybell were already there and Wiley Moyle and
young Fisher Greene soon arrived. Fisher was always being crowded out of
the auto belonging to his family; but he had objected so strenuously on
this occasion that room had to be found in one of the machines and he
had elected to come with the Speedwells, for he and Billy were pretty
good chums.

Fisher sat beside Dan on the front seat; four of the party squeezed into
the rear of the tonneau and the remaining two—Wiley Moyle and Katie
O’Brien—faced the latter quartette. They were comfortably seated, their
possessions stowed away, and Dan ran the car out into the Court House
square just as the clock in the tower struck four.

They had not long to wait for the rest of the party. Chance Avery shot
the Poole car into the square from a by-street, narrowly escaped running
over Rover, Mr. Appleyard’s old dog, and very much frightened old lady
Massey, who was about to cross the street. And he brought the car to an
abrupt stop with a grin on his face, while his open muffler allowed the
exhaust to deafen the whole neighborhood.

“For pity’s sake, close that muffler, Chance!” shouted Monroe Stevens,
who was riding in the Greene’s car, and which now came into sight with
Perry Greene at the wheel. “We can’t hear ourselves talk.”

“I hope the Town Council puts a stop to that,” declared Fisher Greene,
in the Speedwell car.

“Puts a stop to what, young fellow?” demanded Chance Avery, in no
pleasant tone.

“They’re going to fine those automobilists who run through the streets
with their mufflers open,” said Fisher. “Just to show off, you know—make
other folks notice that there’s an auto running by. It’s a good deal
like little Ted Berry smoking cigarettes. It makes him sick, and his
uncle punishes him for it; but Ted thinks it’s making a man of him. I
reckon that would-be chauffeurs who run with their mufflers open, figure
it out the same as Teddy.”

Everybody laughed but Chance; he only scowled and demanded of Jim
Stetson:

“Well, are you folks ready?”

“All right, girls?” asked the master of ceremonies, standing up in the
Greenes’ car.

Even Lettie Parker had forgotten that she was seated beside Billy and
Mildred in the tonneau of the smallest and least showy of the equipages.
They were all so anxious to be off.

“Do go on, boys!” cried Miss Parker. “And, oh dear me! I do want you to
get outside of town where you can race. I never did go fast enough yet
in an automobile.”

“Lettie’s fairly gone on autos,” drawled Billy. “And if she ever gets a
machine of her own——”

“Which I intend to do some day, Mr. Smartie!” cried the bronze-haired
girl.

“Oh, I believe you!” responded Billy, who was nothing if not a tease.
“And then we’ll see her riding around town with her nose in the
air—worse than even Nature ever intended,” he added, with a sly glance
at the tip of Miss Parker’s pretty nose, which really was a little
tip-tilted!

“All right for you, Billy Speedwell,” Miss Parker declared. “You shall
never ride in my car when I do get it.”

“No. I sha’n’t want to. I’d rather be somewhere up near the head of the
procession,” said the teasing Billy.

“Say!” cried Lettie, in a heat, “you don’t call this being at the head
of the procession, do you? We’re number three, all right, and there are
none to follow.”

“Run her up a little, Dannie!” begged Wiley Moyle. “That Chance Avery is
pulling ahead as though he was already running for the golden cup.”

“I didn’t know this was to be a motor race,” laughed Dan, quietly
putting the lever up a notch. “I thought we were out for pleasure.”

“Well, it’s no pleasure to be behind everybody else, and taking their
dust,” complained Lettie Parker.

“Be careful, Dan, no matter what they say to you,” said Mildred Kent,
warningly, in her quiet way. “You know, our mothers all expect us to get
safely home again.”

The Greene automobile, which was a heavy, practical family touring car,
was being put to its best pace. Chance Avery was running away from the
party, being already half a mile, or more, ahead of the Greenes.

Dan’s advancing the speed lever was not noticeable in the throbbing or
jar of the car; the Breton-Melville was one of the quietest-running
automobiles in the market. And this speed was nothing to it—as yet.

But in a very few moments they were running directly behind the heavy
car of the Greenes. The dust was choking.

“Oh, do get out of the wake of that old lumber wagon!” cried Lettie, not
very politely. “This dust will smother us.”

“And you wouldn’t be contented to run far enough behind to escape the
worst of it,” grunted Billy.

“Well, Billy Speedwell!” snapped the council clerk’s daughter, “there’s
only one comfortable place in an automobile run—I see that plainly.”

“Where’s that?” asked the innocent Billy.

“A place in the first car,” returned Lettie. “Let the other people have
your dust.”

Suddenly the girls uttered a startled and chorused “Oh, my!” Dan
Speedwell had sheered the car to the left, it darted ahead as though
suddenly shot from a gun, and in a flash had rounded and left behind the
heavy touring car, and they were running second.

“Oh, Dannie!” gasped Mildred. “How did you do it?”

“Perry must have run backwards,” grunted Billy, with scorn. “Of course!
We can’t get any speed out of this old wreck of a car. Ha! shoot it to
them, Dan!”

The Breton-Melville was humming like a huge top. The road flowed away
beneath the wheels as though it traveled on a great spool in the
direction opposite to their flight. The girls caught their breaths and
held on with both hands.

In half a minute, it seemed, Dan had brought his car up till it was
nosing the rear of Burton Poole’s automobile. Wiley Moyle uttered a
startled cry:

“What you going to do, Dan? Jump her?”

                              CHAPTER XIX

                            AN EXCITING RUN

Wiley had shouted the joke so loudly that those in the forward car heard
him, and it was repeated to Chance Avery. As Dan swerved to the left a
bit, preparatory to running out beside Burton Poole’s car, Chance
glanced around. They could not see him scowl, for his mask and goggles
covered his face.

But it was plain that the captain of the Riverdale Club was not going to
be beaten so easily. He forced the Poole car ahead, and Dan immediately
gave up all intention of passing the first automobile.

“Go to it, boy!” shouted Fisher Greene. “Show ’em what’s in this car.”

“No,” said Dan, easily. “We’re not out for a race, but for a pleasant
run.”

“You’re afraid!” mocked Wiley.

“Perhaps,” returned Dan, cheerfully.

Even Billy kept his temper and grinned at the gibes of Wiley and Fisher.
The Breton-Melville car had shown what she could do for a few moments,
and that satisfied Billy, as it did his brother. The Speedwells knew
that of the three cars, their drab machine was running the smoothest,
with less cost, and was as easily governed as any.

They ran on for the rest of the distance to Karnac Lake in the same
order, letting Chance, in the Poole car, keep the lead, while the
Speedwell and Greene machines ran close together and the occupants were
sociable.

They arrived at Stetson Lodge, as the lake cottage was called, in ample
season to remove the dust of the journey, and become acquainted with
other folk of the cottage colony invited in for supper. It was a merry
evening for all, the Stetsons being people who knew very well how to
make their guests feel at home.

At eleven o’clock, or a little later, the party broke up. The
neighboring guests went home and the members of the party sought their
several rooms. Dan and Billy had already explained to Jim Stetson that
they intended to run home in their car and return soon after breakfast,
or even before, Saturday morning.

“You can’t do it, fellows,” said Jim, as he went out with them, and held
the lantern while they ran the drab car out from under the shed and lit
the lamps, both fore and aft. “Fifty miles each way—huh! something will
happen to the machine as sure as shooting.”

“If she can’t run a hundred miles in twelve hours without going to the
repair shop,” snorted Billy, “there isn’t much use in our entering for
the thousand mile run.”

“You’re right there, Billy-boy,” said Dan, as he cranked up and the
engine began to whirr and pop.

“Well, good luck!” exclaimed Jim, as he closed the shed. “We have to
keep these doors locked. You see, that M’Kim chap—Harrington M’Kim—is
just crazy about automobiles and uncle doesn’t know what he might do
next. He came over here one day last summer and borrowed uncle’s car
without saying ‘by your leave’, and started off with it. They caught
him, however, in time.”

“What’s the matter with him?” asked Billy.

“Why—I’m not sure that there’s much the matter with him, if his folks
wouldn’t watch over him so close and nag him all the time. The poor chap
is epileptic——”

“Has fits?”

“Yes. Dreadful ones sometimes. But he’ll outgrow them, the doctor says.
Only his folks are rich, and they hire maids, and governesses, and
tutors and such folk, to watch him all the time. They don’t dare have
him play like other boys, or with other boys. He’s in bad now, I tell
you.”

“But running an automobile is no job for a fellow who may have a fit at
any moment,” said Billy.

“I believe you,” said Jim. “Well, you’re off!”

“Bye-bye!” shouted Billy, as Dan whirled the car out of the yard. But
before they were a mile on the road the brothers changed places. Billy
slipped to the wheel and Dan sat beside him.

“Now, youngster!” chuckled Dan, “let’s see what you can do to her. We
have a clear road before us. Up hill and down dale—just about what we’ll
have for the thousand mile run. And we’ve got no weight behind. Let her
go!”

The drab car climbed the hill without a break, slid over the summit, and
coasted down the other side at a pace which made the brothers stoop to
get a breath. Their lights showed a long, clear stretch of road ahead;
but when they came to a bend they went around it so quickly that Dan was
obliged to fling himself far out from the car on the inner side to keep
the tires on the ground. And his weight was barely sufficient for that.

At racing speed they came down into Riverdale. The town was silent and
only the street lights winked at them as they roared through the streets
and out past Josiah Somes’ home. That watchdog of the public welfare was
not on hand to stretch his rope for them, and in a very few minutes they
ran quietly into their own yard—time from Karnac, one hour and thirteen
minutes.

But as soon as the engine had cooled off they had to go over the entire
machine, tighten bolts, replace some, clean thoroughly, oil the
bearings, and otherwise give the Breton-Melville a thorough grooming.

“That’s all right,” said Dan. “She can do fast time—there’s no doubt of
it. But that isn’t the way to win an endurance test of a thousand miles,
Billy.”

“I expect not,” agreed his brother.

“Fast traveling will shake the best car to pieces. And we are not up in
the mechanics of the automobile yet—we can’t stop anywhere on the road
and repair the vitals of our craft, as these professionals do.”

“We’ve got to learn,” said Billy, thoughtfully.

“That’s the checker! If we are going in for mechanics—motorcycles, motor
cars—perhaps, Billy, power boats——”

“Ouch! you’re treading on a sore corn,” grunted Billy, but with a grin.
“I was watching those scooters running up and down the river under the
bridge the other day till my tongue fairly hung out of my mouth! My
goodness me, Dannie! what couldn’t we do with a motor boat—eh?”

“We couldn’t plow for corn with it, I reckon,” laughed the elder
brother. “But it would be fine to own a launch like the _Pedoe_, or the
_Mainspring II_.”

“And how about John Lovell’s _Blue Streak_?” exclaimed Billy. “I saw her
on the Fourth. Why, she cut the water like a shark going to dinner!”

“Well, to get back to what I was saying,” Dan observed. “If we are going
in for these things, we must have some technical training. We can’t
think of going to school after next year. Father can’t afford to send
us. But we must get in somewhere—into some shop where we can learn
mechanics.”

“The Darringford Shops, for instance?” suggested Billy.

“One of us might; but the other ought to take up the electrical
branches, I believe.”

While they were talking, they were at work upon the body and mechanism
of their Breton-Melville. Before it was time to do the usual chores they
had put the car in fine shape again, got an hour’s nap which did them a
world of good, and they were loading up the wagons when their father
came out of the house.

“Aren’t you boys paying rather dearly for your fun?” he asked,
good-naturedly. “I hardly expected you’d get back here. Your mother and
I did not hear you come in. And how does the car run?”

“Dandy and good, Dad!” cried Billy, while Dan said:

“Now, there wasn’t any need of your getting up so early. We’re not going
to let you pay for our fun, that’s sure. When Billy and I get our
schemes to working right, we’ll deliver this milk in half the time it
takes now—and, naturally, at half the expense.”

“Yes,” interposed Billy, giggling. “Dan’s going to take the bottles
around to the customers in a motor launch!”

But Dan only smiled quietly at this. They got off with the milk wagons
in good season, and were back betimes, also, and without mishap. Mrs.
Speedwell had a good breakfast ready for them, and they ate and were off
again in the car at a few minutes past seven o’clock.

The run back to Karnac Lake was a more moderate one than that they had
taken at midnight; nevertheless they arrived at the Stetson cottage
about nine o’clock. They put their own car into the shed which did
service as a garage and found the whole crowd out on the drive along the
lakeside—a fine macadamized piece of road sixty feet wide and following
the lake shore for nearly ten miles.

Chance Avery had Poole’s car out and was driving up and down, “doing
stunts,” as Wiley Moyle called it.

“Why don’t you fellows bring out your bunch of scrap iron and show that
chap some fancy running?” Fisher Greene demanded. “Perry won’t get our
car in the ring. I hate to see Chance Avery always carrying off the
honors.”

“No,” said Dan. “We’ve just taken fifty miles at a good clip and we’ll
have to overhaul her again before we go back to-night. Let Chance do his
monkey business without any rival.”

But the girls thought that Avery was really a remarkable chauffeur. He
did handle Burton Poole’s car with some dexterity; nevertheless, Dan was
quite decided in his own mind that the Poole automobile was by no means
as good a machine as their own Breton-Melville.

Burton, however, had his car furnished nicely. There was little wonder
that the girls preferred to ride in it. They all became tired after a
little while, however, and either joined in, or stood to watch, a
doubles’ set at tennis. Chance left his car, and joined Mildred Kent
beside the tennis court.

Suddenly Jim Stetson began to shout. He was one of the players and had
just started service when he dropped ball and racquette and started on a
run for the road, yelling:

“Get out of that, Harrington! Drop it!”

At the moment the car began to pop and they all saw it move away from
the curb. A slight fellow in a blazer coat, and without a hat, was at
the wheel. He was a pasty-faced fellow, thin, unhealthy-looking, and
with a pronounced squint in his eyes.

He grinned over his shoulder at Jim, and stuck out his tongue. Meanwhile
he put the car up to a good speed and fairly flew away up the drive.

“It’s Harrington M’Kim!” cried Ruth Stetson. “Oh, that boy will do some
damage to that car!”

“He’ll wreck it, or break his own neck,” declared Monroe Stevens. “Why
did you leave it so it could be started by the first chap that came
along, Chance?”

But there was no use in scolding the captain of the Outing Club. Poole’s
car was sailing up the drive at a pace which made pursuit afoot a futile
game.

“Somebody get out another car and give chase!” cried Jim.

“But then Harrington will only run faster,” objected his sister.

Suddenly they saw the car describe a graceful curve and return toward
them. The reckless youth handled Poole’s auto like a veteran.

“We’ve got a chance to stop him when he comes by,” declared Avery.

“How?” sneered Jim Stetson. “He’d run right over you. He wouldn’t care.
I tell you he doesn’t act as though he had good sense.”

“What do they let such a fellow go loose for, then?” cried Chance Avery.

As he spoke they were all startled by the change which they saw plainly
flash into young Harrington M’Kim’s features. His countenance writhed,
he fell back in the seat, let go of the wheel and his body was convulsed
in the grip of the epileptic seizure. The automobile was running wild!

                               CHAPTER XX

                       OFF ON THE ENDURANCE TEST

The boy was a sad sight himself; but the peril which menaced him
and—incidentally—Burton Poole’s auto, moved some of the onlookers more
than did the pitiful condition of young Harrington M’Kim.

The car was rushing down toward the Stetson cottage, which was the last
house in the row before the drive turned abruptly away from the lake. At
this corner a low wall guarded the path; but the bricks were built up
only two feet high, and that wildly running auto would mount the
sidewalk and this brick wall, too, and be dashed into the water which
here lapped the foot of the embankment.

It was a sad predicament for M’Kim. But to one of those who saw the car
flying down the drive, the fate of the machine seemed more important
than the fate of the boy!

“Stop it! The car will be wrecked!” yelled Chance Avery, and he fairly
danced up and down in his excitement. But he did not make any reckless
attempt to halt the career of the automobile.

Fortunately the car had been headed straight down the middle of the road
before M’Kim’s seizure. It came at fast speed, for the reckless youth
had set the gas lever well forward. It swept down upon the
horror-stricken group.

It was Dan Speedwell who made the first move. He cleared the sidewalk in
three strides and dashed into the road directly in the path of the
flying car. The girls screamed again. Mildred Kent called to him.

“Dan! Dannie! You’ll be killed!”

And it did seem an utterly reckless and useless thing for Dan to do. He
was putting his life in jeopardy, so it seemed, without there being a
possibility of his either aiding the boy in the car, or stopping the
auto itself.

The writhing figure on the front seat attracted less attention now than
did Dan. They saw him stand, unmoved, directly in the track of the car.
The heavy machine rolled down upon him and—it seemed—would crush him in
an instant.

It was then that Dan Speedwell leaped aside. The automobile flashed by,
but Dan was quick enough to catch hold with both hands.

He was whirled off his feet and was dragged for several yards. Then he
got a knee upon the run board, then raised himself, slipped to the
wheel, and as the car came to the sharp turn, he threw back the lever,
cast out the gear, and guided the fast-flying auto so that it would take
the bend in the road on a long curve.

It was all over, then. Dan turned the car about and came easily back
before his excited friends reached the corner. M’Kim lay still, the
paroxysm past. Dan ran the car in toward the curb and halted.

“Dan! you dear fellow, you!” shouted Burton Poole, first to seize his
hand. “I suppose I’m selfish to not think more of M’Kim—but the car! You
saved it for us.”

“You’re all right, Dannie,” cried his brother, pumping away at his other
hand.

Jim and Fisher Greene raised a more or less familiar chant:

“Dan! Dan! He’s the man! Dan! Dan! Dan Speedwell!”

They were all shouting the chant in a moment—all but Chance Avery.
Chance looked the car over to make sure that it was not injured. But he
never gave the lad who had saved it a word of thanks. Friends of M’Kim
cared for the unfortunate youth.

The pleasant day by the lake passed without incident after that. They
rode home in the evening, a merry party indeed. Mildred Kent elected to
sit beside Dan in the front seat. There was a new moon riding above the
tree-tops, and the stars were brilliant.

“Dannie,” said the girl, laying her friendly hand upon his jacket
sleeve, “I want to tell you how proud I am that you stopped that car and
saved it from going over the wall. I know Chance Avery has treated you
meanly, and it must have taken some effort on your part to jump in and
save the car he has boasted is going to beat yours for the golden cup.
It was real noble of you—you heaped coals of fire on Avery’s head.”

But Dan and Billy both had occasion to think a good deal about Burton
Poole’s automobile before Thanksgiving week came around. Chance Avery
allowed no opportunity to pass wherein he could belittle the Speedwells’
drab car, or cast doubt upon the possibility of our heroes getting a
hundred miles on the trail laid out by Mr. Briggs for the endurance
test.

The circulars containing the rules of the road and other information
were studied more than the school text books those final few days before
the Thanksgiving vacation. Even Dan, who was particularly faithful to
his studies, found it hard to keep up to the mark.

He and Billy had bought maps of the states through which they hoped to
travel. The course was laid out as a rough triangle, making Compton the
starting point and touching two large cities, bringing up finally at
Compton again as a finish. The measured distance over the route chosen
was exactly a thousand and eight miles.

They knew that they could easily comply with all the demands Mr. Briggs
made, and with all the conditions of the race. They had learned by this
time the minutest particulars about their car. Either of the Speedwells
could have taken the Breton-Melville auto apart and assembled the parts
again perfectly.

Among the Riverdale Outing Club members the interest lay in the rivalry
between the local cars, more than in the general outcome of the race.
There were to be several contestants from the town in the endurance run,
but it was generally acknowledged that none of them had much chance—if
the result of the run was governed by speed—saving Burton Poole’s car
and that of the Speedwell boys.

And the owners of the Breton-Melville car knew that the speed
possibilities of their auto was only a part of the game. It would never
do to race over the roads at the pace they had come from Karnac Lake at
midnight. No machine, no matter how well built, could stand many miles
of such work without shaking to pieces.

The boys had gone over the route by map, and planned just where they
would halt for their meals and for necessary sleep. They had read
accounts of former runs, and knew about what to expect on the road.
Although the run was well advertised, there would doubtless be many
obstructions on the route, and the weather, of course, could not be
arranged to suit the contestants.

The rules were that any contestant could run ten hours in each
twenty-four—consecutively, not otherwise; time lost on repairs or
stoppages beyond the automobilists’ control, not allowed. The cars were
to be started within ten minutes of each other, and their time would be
registered at each station. Stoppages for refreshment, or sleep, had to
be reported exactly, too.

One week before the starting of the race there were entered sixty-five
cars in the endurance test. Then came the drawings, and Dan and Billy
found themselves to be forty-eighth on the list. The first car would be
started out of the Compton Motordrome at four o’clock in the morning,
and, allowing ten minutes for each car to get under way, the Speedwell
boys would not be sent out until ten minutes before noon. Their first
day’s run, therefore, would end at ten minutes to ten at night.

The rules allowed them to make the nearest station at the end of a day’s
run; but any extra time had to be subtracted from the following day’s
schedule. It was a much discussed question as to how long it would take
the best car to get over the route under Mr. Briggs’ rules; Dan and
Billy believed that it would take between four and five days.

“Twenty miles an hour, on an average, will be mighty good time,” Dan
said to his brother. “Of course, we read about sixty, and seventy, and
eighty and even ninety and more miles an hour, in automobile racing.
We’ve traveled at the rate of ninety miles on our motorcycles—for a
mile, or so. But that isn’t what counts.”

“Just the same, if a fellow could get ahead and keep his lead—” began
Billy.

“Yes! Keeping it is what counts. But if any of these fellows start
racing over the sort of roads there are between Greenbaugh and Olin
City, for instance, they’ll shake their machines to pieces inside of
five miles. Remember, we’ve got to climb a mountain chain twice during
the run, and it will be a stiff pull each time.”

“Don’t you fret. You’re the doctor,” grunted Billy. “I’m not going to
put in my oar. I’ll trust to your judgment every time, old man.”

“Well, I may make a mistake,” admitted Dan. “But I’m glad for one that
Chance and Burton are not near us.”

“No, they’re lucky to get away among the first—seven will be tacked onto
the hood of their car,” said Billy, who had been studying the advertised
list of entries. “And do you notice where Mr. Briggs’ maroon
Postlethwaite is? He’s running near us—forty-one.”

“We’ll have good neighbors, then,” chuckled Dan.

“I don’t suppose the cars will remain long in the order they start, do
you?”

“I don’t know. We can leave when we please on the second day’s run. I
want, if possible, to make the Holly Tree Inn at Farmingdale on our
first day.”

“Whew!” ejaculated Billy, after consulting his guide. “That’s three
hundred miles—nearly. Do you think we can do it?”

“I don’t know. I mean to try.”

“And you were the one who said that racing wouldn’t pay.”

“And it won’t; but the roads are as good as any we shall have during the
entire run. Our car will be—is now, in fact—in perfect shape. If we have
any mechanical trouble, Billy, it won’t be on the first day. She can
stand thirty miles an hour. We’ll carry our eats with us, and our
biggest load will be gasoline. I don’t propose to stop but once a day to
buy juice—make up your mind to that, Billy-boy!”

There was an element of chance in the race, however, which lent zest to
it. An accident might make even the best of the cars fail to win
laurels. Down to the evening before the start, and on the arrival of all
of the contestants at the Compton Motordrome, no one could say surely
which automobile, and which team, had the better chance of winning the
golden cup.

The motordrome was gay with lights and red-fire. There were races, and
speeches, and a big crowd assembled and remained all night to see the
starting of the first cars. There was an all-night bicycle race for
amateurs in which Biff Hardy and Wiley Moyle carried off the honors for
the Riverdale Club; but although there were motorcycle races, too, the
Speedwells decided to keep out of them. They could not afford to risk an
accident.

And there was another thing Dan did not risk. When they left their
Breton-Melville under the shed, to go to the big gate and watch the
first cars get under way, Dan left somebody to watch the drab auto—and
somebody whom he could trust.

The Speedwells stood in the crowd and saw the first cars get away in the
light of the search-lamps. It was a cloudy morning and the string of
autos up the straight road soon looked like so many glow-worms. When
number seven rolled down to the starting line and the big placards were
fastened on, fore and aft, Dan and Billy made off for a house where they
had engaged a bed. They got five hours refreshing sleep and then had a
most excellent breakfast.

When they went back to the motordrome at a few minutes past eleven, they
found their father and mother and the children waiting for them. Mr.
Speedwell had driven over and brought his boys a great box of lunch to
carry in their car. He had engaged a man to help him with the milk
routes while Dan and Billy were absent.

There were plenty of Riverdale folk to cheer for the Speedwells as they
got away, too. Mildred Kent and Lettie Parker were in the Greenes’ auto
and the girls wished the team handling number forty-eight the best of
good luck as the drab car started.

The boys waved their caps as the Breton-Melville slid smoothly out of
the motordrome gate and over the starter’s line. There was a big crowd
in Compton now to watch the remaining cars get under way. The police
kept the street open for some distance; then the road broadened and the
houses became few and far between.

The shouts of the onlookers grew distant. The drab car began to purr
like a great cat. Behind they saw number forty-nine thrusting its
battleship prow out of a balloon of dust that traveled with it. Dan
advanced the spark. Right before them was number forty-seven, that had
started ten minutes earlier. The Breton-Melville, like a drab rocket,
curved out for this car and passed it as though forty-seven was at a
standstill!

The great race had begun, and Billy, in his heart, secretly counted the
passing of this car as the first milestone on their way to victory.

                              CHAPTER XXI

                          THE FIRST TEN HOURS

This road race was much different from the usual test of speed on the
open highway. There were no guards lines, or men with flags at cross
roads to warn the unwary drivers of horses, or pedestrians. The cars in
this endurance run had to take all the chances, and suffer the delays
usual to an automobile run in the suburban districts.

The Speedwells in their forty-eight were less than five miles out of
Compton when they passed forty-seven. On the edge of Pachusett, half a
mile farther on, they found forty-six in the ditch! A big load of hay
was overturned across the road, and the hay wagon had lost a wheel.

How this wreck had occurred the Speedwells did not stop to ask. There
was a crowd of a couple of hundred persons around the scene of the
wreck, and it was plain that neither the automobilists nor the farmers
needed any help.

There had been frost enough the night before to make the fields hard,
and this was a cloudy day. Dan made up his mind instantly to go around
the obstruction. He and Billy got out and removed a section of the
roadside fence and steered their drab car out into a turnip field.

Number forty-nine was then in view; but the Speedwells got away quickly
and ran through Pachusett as fast as they dared. Two stern-looking
constables, with big tin stars on the breasts of their coats, held their
Waterbury watches on number forty-eight as it sung along Main Street;
but they evidently could not figure out just how fast the boys were
going.

It had not rained for some time, and the roads were very dusty in
places. Where the roadway was lightly built the autos ahead of the
Speedwells had already cut deeply into the surface. It was soon hard
traveling, and the dust and sand sifted over them, and over the car,
until they looked like millers.

“This is why the faster we get ahead this first day, and the more cars
we put behind us, the better off we will be for the rest of the run,”
said Dan.

“I guess so! Lettie Parker hit it right the day we went to Karnac Lake.
The best place in a run of this kind is right up ahead,” agreed Billy.

According to the road map there was a splendid piece of macadamized
highway between Bannister and City Ford, and it was thirty-eight miles
long. It was a piece of road greatly favored by automobilists, and it
was always well traveled. But this run had been so well advertised that
ordinary motor car drivers out for pleasure on this stretch of road
would give the right of way to the racing cars.

It was a wide road and almost level. There was not a bridge or a
railroad crossing for the entire thirty-eight miles. When the Speedwells
struck the head of this piece of highway, Dan slipped out of the
chauffeur’s seat, and allowed his brother to get under the wheel.

Billy was eager to feel the throb and jump of the mechanism under his
hand. They had stopped a few moments before, too, tried certain bolts,
filled the gasoline tank, and “watered her.” Everything seemed as taut
as when they rolled out of the Compton Motordrome.

“Now, boy, go to it!” his brother said. “Show them what you can do.”

And Billy was not backward in doing this. He had an ambition to be a
fast driver and all the conditions were in his favor. Number forty-eight
began to travel immediately, and soon he had brought her up to such
speed that—as Dan yelled in his ear—the telegraph poles beside the road
looked like a picket fence!

They had passed number forty-five before this, and now, in quick
succession they overtook forty-four, thirty-nine and seventeen—the
latter having been held back by some slight breakage. But this was too
early in the game to be sure that they had passed these cars for good!

Billy, however, gave his dust to several other cars in the race before
they traversed that thirty-eight miles of beautiful, hard road. And
their time was forty-three minutes!

“Good boy!” cried Dan, as they slowed down to a twelve-mile speed as
they struck the head of Market Street in City Ford. “We have run a
hundred and five miles and our time is three hours and ten minutes.”

“Why, at this rate,” cried Billy, “we’ll be able to get beyond the Holly
Tree Inn to-night. Don’t you think so?”

“I have my doubts about it,” said Dan. “There is no other piece of road
like that we’ve just come over. There’ll be little racing for the rest
of the day, but just steady plugging along. And we’ve got to eat, old
man!”

“Let me stick to the wheel while you take a bite, Dan,” begged the
younger boy, “and then I’ll eat. I wonder how far some of the head cars
will get to-day? Where’s Mr. Briggs’ car?”

“Haven’t seen it yet. We haven’t passed that maroon baby, you may very
well believe!”

“And Mr. Darringford’s car?” queried Billy.

“Why, he’s behind. Didn’t you notice? His number is fifty-three.”

“And number seven?” said Billy. “That’s the car I want to give the dust
of the road.”

“You’ll wait a bit for that,” said his brother. “Chance and Burton
started too far in advance for us to think of passing them yet.”

“You never can tell,” Billy observed, shaking his head. “Maybe they’ll
break down.”

“I hope not,” returned Dan, quickly. “If we beat them I want them to
have the best chance possible.”

“Say! I’d like to show ’em up right around Greenbaugh,” said Billy,
quickly. “You know, Chance went to Greenbaugh Seminary one year—before
his brother came to the Darringford shops.”

“Well?”

“Chance has been blowing around that the Greenbaugh Seminary fellows
will give him an ovation when he goes through the town. Of course, he’ll
want to be clear ahead of most of the crowd, so as to show ’em what a
great driver he is. I don’t care how far ahead he is of the other cars,
but when he parades down Greenbaugh’s High Street, I want him to be
taking the dust of number forty-eight,” concluded Billy with energy.

“My! but you’re right vicious!” chuckled Dan, as they rumbled out upon
the river bridge and left City Ford behind them.

Our heroes climbed hills and descended short, sharp runs; they passed
through forest and field; the “slow down” signs faced them frequently
and Billy chafed as they ran through the hamlets at what he considered a
snail’s pace.

At some places crowds had gathered to watch the contestants pass. Then
again other automobiles joined in the procession and kept up with some
of the entries for miles. These incidents retarded speed, if anything.
The road race was much different from the track trials Dan and Billy had
seen.

In some small towns there was little order as the automobiles came
through so close together. The constables were more interested in seeing
that the motorists did not exceed the speed limit than in keeping the
streets clear. Reckless boys would run back and forth across the
roadway. It was perilous even to travel at the legal rate.

The Speedwells had passed several more cars. At one big, well-lighted
roadhouse there were a dozen of the contestants in the race, having put
their cars under the sheds for the night. Mr. Briggs’ big Postlethwaite
was just being backed into a stall as the Speedwells shot by. Henri
waved his hand to Dan and called good luck after them. It was some
satisfaction to the boys to know that they had gotten the best of at
least twenty of the other cars. They had then won on them from half an
hour to two hours in time.

They had only an hour of their own time remaining, however, and the
Holly Tree Inn at Farmingdale was still forty miles away. The roads were
reported only fair. But comparatively few cars had been over them and
they would not be so badly cut up as were many which lay behind.

And within that forty miles the map showed but two hamlets where it
would be necessary to slow down. Both were liberal towns—twelve miles an
hour was the limit.

The Breton-Melville car was running smoothly. Not an hour before they
had oiled up and groomed her nicely. There was a possibility of making
the Holly Tree within the time stipulated.

“And if we don’t, we’ll have to stop at Sharpe’s Crossroads to register
and stay for the night,” said Billy, nervously. “That’s the ticket,
isn’t it, Dan?”

“That is the result of failure,” smiled his brother. “_But we’re not
going to fail!_”

They had interchanged these remarks at a spot where they had to run
slowly. Once free again Dan let the car out with a suddenness that made
the machine leap like a horse under the spur. They shot along the
country road, overhung with trees which made the darkness deeper, their
head-lamps parting the gloom before them, and displaying objects with
clearness. The Speedwells had fitted their car with good lamps; but no
headlight will reveal an obstruction in the road far enough in advance
for a car to be brought to a stop, if it is running at top speed.

They were taking chances, that was a fact. Dan Speedwell was not usually
reckless; but he had a double incentive in thus “running on his luck.”
Not alone did he desire to make the Holly Tree Inn within the ten-hour
limit; but car number seven had not yet been passed!

Burton Poole’s auto was still ahead. Dan believed that Chance Avery
would drive Poole’s car at top speed this first day. And Billy himself
longed to beat car number seven no more than Dan did, although the
latter said less about it.

When the clock, screwed under the wind shield, showed twenty minutes
after nine they had traveled seventeen of the forty miles. And right
ahead was the second village. For three miles and more they would have
to reduce speed—or, were supposed to.

But it is a nice problem to run one of these racing cars at a twelve
mile an hour gait!

When number forty-eight came to the head of Main Street, the lights
revealed a straggling row of houses on either side, a general store, or
two, a postoffice, and a clear street. If Dan reduced speed at all,
Billy never noticed it!

They roared through the little town like a limited express going by a
flag station. There may have been constables in that town; but they were
not on hand. At least, Dan and Billy Speedwell never saw them as they
shot along the main thoroughfare and out into the country on the other
side.

Faster and faster the machine seemed to fly. When they took the curves
Billy threw his weight upon the other side, leaning far off from the
step and doing his best to keep the tires on the ground.

They flashed past the little collection of houses as Sharpe’s
Crossroads. The clock pointed to twenty minutes to ten. It was nine
miles to the Farmingdale Inn.

The car took a curve and the wheels skidded; but Dan did not reduce
speed. He got back into the center of the road before they reached a
covered bridge over the river.

The bridge was well lighted. Good fortune in that!

As the car rushed down to the covered way Billy suddenly uttered a
frightened yell. There was a car stalled right in the path!

The covered bridge was divided by a partition into two driveways. The
stalled machine was in the right-hand track—the way the Speedwells
should take according to all rules of the road. Its rear lamp was shut
off and the Breton-Melville would have crashed into it had not the
bridge lights revealed the danger.

And even then it is doubtful if Dan could have braked in time. Indeed,
he did not try to. He swerved to the left and saw that that side of the
bridge was clear.

The drab car shot across the bridge at terrific speed. The boys could
not halt to see what was the matter with the stalled auto. A few moments
only did they have to run into Farmingdale. And they would have to
reduce speed on the outskirts of the town.

For several miles they had traveled more than a mile a minute!

The day’s race was done, however; the lights of the Holly Tree Inn were
in sight. They rolled into the yard, where several autos were already
standing, with two minutes to spare. It was twelve minutes to ten.

But as Dan and Billy threw aside their coats and got out to stretch
their legs, the younger boy said:

“What car do you suppose that was in the bridge, Dannie?”

“Give it up. Didn’t see any number on it.”

“I know. And Mr. Briggs’ car is behind us—we passed it.”

“Sure,” declared Dan, in surprise.

“Well, that car in the bridgeway was a maroon auto; I didn’t know there
was more than one maroon car in the race; did you?” queried Billy,
seriously.

                              CHAPTER XXII

                             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.”

                             CHAPTER XXIII

                        QUEER ACTIONS OF NO. 41

Dan stood silently, his teeth on his lower lip, his face heavy with
thought. Billy continued:

“How ever did Chance do it?”

“That’s where he went when he got up so early this morning at the inn.
He went to the gasoline station, bribed somebody there, and got the cans
filled with water. One thing is sure, we’ll make whoever helped him
suffer for it.”

“But what good will that do?” demanded Billy, “when we have lost the
race?”

“We haven’t lost the race!” snapped his brother.

“We’re stalled here, I tell you!” cried Billy, waving his arms
excitedly.

“I know it.”

“What are you going to do for power? How you going to get to the next
station—fly? You say the word and I’ll run all the way to the nearest
town and buy the gasoline, and bring it back in a wagon. But it will
take oceans of time.”

“I know it,” gritted Dan. “We’ve got to have it quicker than
that—listen!”

“Another car coming. Another set of joshers,” complained Billy, who did
not like being made a target for fun.

The car they heard was coming at full speed. Dan hesitated, and then
stepped around the drab car and looked up the road. The running
automobile appeared.

“Hooray!” yelled Billy. “It’s Mr. Briggs’ car. He’ll help us.”

The huge “forty-one” was plain upon the hood of the automobile. As it
came on, however, the chauffeur showed no intention of reducing speed.

This was not a bad bit of road where the Speedwell boys were stalled.
Car forty-one was evidently striving to make up some of the miles it had
lost on the previous day. It came on like the wind!

Dan and Billy both waved their hands. The car did not swerve, nor did
the chauffeur pay them the compliment of pulling down in the least.

The huge Postlethwaite swept on, was guided around the stalled car with
skill, and rushed past and on around the next curve in the road—and all
so quickly that the boys were speechless for a moment with surprise.

“Did you ever?” finally gasped Billy.

“Henri never even winked at us,” growled Dan.

“And if he had, you wouldn’t have seen that wink,” observed his brother,
with a nervous gasp. “Say! that was mean!”

“Of course, they didn’t have to stop.”

“No. But it wouldn’t have hurt Mr. Briggs to pull down for a moment.”

“He never even looked at us.”

“No. He sat in there beside Henri, ready to help him take the curves. I
never thought he’d be so mean,” complained Billy.

“Here’s another!” exclaimed his brother.

They turned to see a second automobile come around the bend in the road.
It was not going so fast. It was numbered thirty-seven.

Before it reached the Speedwells it slowed down and the man at the wheel
demanded:

“Did you see that maroon car just now?”

“Of course!” exclaimed Dan and Billy together.

“It was number forty-one, wasn’t it?” demanded the chauffeur of
thirty-seven, and he seemed very angry.

“Yes.”

“Well, we’re going to report that car. It ought to be barred out of the
race,” sputtered the man.

“What’s that?” gasped Dan, while Billy looked, open-mouthed, at the
angry automobilist.

“I tell you, it ought to be barred out,” cried the stranger, and his
companion agreed with a vigorous nod. “They come pretty near taking a
wheel off of us. Look at that scratch along the side of our car; will
you?”

“I see it,” admitted Dan, vastly puzzled.

“That maroon car did it,” cried the man. “It ought to be——”

“But say!” blurted out Billy. “That was Mr. Briggs’ car—Mr. Briggs who
started this endurance test—the man who offers the gold cup!”

“Mr. Raleigh Briggs!” cried the angry man.

“That’s the number of his car—forty-one,” Dan interposed, quickly.

“Well, he ought to be spoken to,” said the man, more mildly. “We were
giving him the right of the road as fast as possible; I never saw a man
drive so recklessly in all my life!”

The angry automobilist was driving on, when Dan said:

“By the way, can you let us have a gallon of juice? We are stalled——”

“Haven’t any to spare!” snapped the man, as he threw on his speed.

“Ha!” ejaculated Billy. “I wish Mr. Briggs had tipped him into the
ditch!”

“If it was Mr. Briggs,” muttered Dan, but his brother did not hear him.

“What’ll we do?” queried Billy again. “You don’t mean to stay here and
beg of every car you see, do you? They’ll all turn us down.”

“All these cars aren’t driven by such fellows,” growled Dan.

“But say! When Mr. Briggs himself would act so mean——”

“Here’s another!” cried Dan, and this time he leaped into the very
center of the road, determined to make the coming car slow down, at
least.

When it shot into sight Billy gave a sudden cheer.

“Number fifty-three! Oh, Dannie! that’s Mr. Robert!”

But at that word his brother stepped quickly out of the way. He could
not hold up Darringford, who had already been so kind to them. But the
young proprietor of the Darringford Machine Shops began to slow down as
soon as he saw that the drab car was in trouble.

“What’s the matter, boys?” he shouted, craning his head out of the car
to see them.

“Oh, Mr. Robert!” cried Billy, boldly. “Can you lend us a gallon of
gasoline?”

“What! gone stale between towns?” laughed the young man. “I am surprised
at you, boys.”

“It was not our fault, I assure you,” said Dan, quietly. “Somebody
played a trick on us. They filled our cans at Farmingdale with water
instead of gasoline.”

“Why! that’s a despicable trick,” declared Mr. Robert, as Dan opened one
of the cans and poured the water into the road.

“It has lost us nearly an hour already,” said Billy.

“It shall lose you no more time. Give me that empty can,” said Mr.
Robert, quickly. “Take one of our full ones. That’s right. Now, come on,
boys, and show me what your Breton-Melville can do!” and, the exchange
being made, he waved to his chauffeur to go on again.

And the Speedwells were not far behind him. They filled their tank after
draining out the water. They had to start slowly, and it took them
nearly an hour to run the next ten miles. Then they reached a gasoline
station and were very sure that the right fluid was run into their cans.

The Breton-Melville worked like a charmed car after that one accident.
On the long grade which they struck about eleven o’clock—the climb over
the mountain range—she acted perfectly. But eighteen miles an hour was
her best speed going up.

At the summit (they reached the Tip Top House at three) the boys halted
to overhaul their gear and oil up. They hoped to make Greenbaugh, in the
valley, before the end of their ten mile run; but they were eighty-seven
miles away. They had traveled already a hundred and forty-two miles from
the Holly Tree Inn. The trick Chance Avery had played them certainly had
set them back in this day’s running a good many miles!

But several of the early cars to start—the small numbers—had been passed
by the Speedwells; as they figured it coming up the mountain there were
only fifteen cars ahead of them, including number seven.

“And Mr. Briggs’ car,” added Billy. “She must be tearing down the
mountain already. Hey!” he called to one of the men working around the
stables, “has number forty-one passed on? Of course it has! How long
ago?”

“Number forty-one?” repeated the man, referring to a list of the cars he
carried in his pocket. “No, sir. She ain’t showed up yet.”

“Why, she passed us miles back!” cried Billy, and Dan looked up from his
work in surprise, too.

“No. She hasn’t come,” said the man, with confidence.

“Why—why—what does it mean?” gasped the younger Speedwell. “It can’t be
possible that we passed Mr. Briggs anywhere, and missed him.”

“He must be ahead of us,” agreed Dan.

“I know my list is right,” said the man. “I been noting every car that’s
in the race. You see how I’ve put a star against those that have got by.
Number forty-one ain’t one of ’em.”

“A big maroon car—a Postlethwaite,” suggested Dan.

“No, sir. Ain’t no maroon car gone through. I’m mighty sure of that!”

“Well, what do you know about that?” murmured Billy, staring at his
brother. “Think that was a delusion back there on the road? Maybe we
didn’t see Mr. Briggs’ car, either?”

“Maybe we didn’t,” replied Dan, gravely. “But I guess that man in
thirty-seven wouldn’t agree that it was a delusion that scratched up his
panels.”

“Whew! I should say not.”

At that moment the hostler with the checked list broke in on their
conversation.

“How far did you come to-day?” he asked.

“Hundred and forty miles,” grunted Billy. He wasn’t proud of their
speed.

“Then you slept at Farmingdale?”

“Yep.”

“Hear about the robbery of the postoffice there before you started?”

“No!” cried Billy. “Last night?”

“Yes. Cleaned it out. Three or four thousand dollars’ worth of stamps,
registered mail, and thirteen hundred dollars in cash. Nice little haul
for some band of robbers,” said the hostler.

He went away and Dan and Billy stared at each other for a moment. Billy
put his thoughts in words first:

“The maroon car stood in that bridge over the Farmingdale River last
night, when we came through. No honest car would have hidden there.”

“Where is Mr. Briggs and the real forty-one car?” demanded Dan.

“Oh, Dan! that couldn’t have been him who drove by us so fast this
morning.”

“And scratched number thirty-seven, too,” said Dan.

“It’s the other maroon car,” declared Billy, excitedly. “It’s the bank
robbers.”

“But where is Mr. Briggs?” demanded his brother, again.

“Goodness only knows. Those thieves are onto the fact that their car is
the mate to Mr. Briggs’ auto. It’s plain they are using that fact to
hide their tracks.”

“And meanwhile,” repeated Dan, for the third time, “what has happened to
Mr. Briggs?”

“I give it up!”

“I’m going to find out,” declared Dan. “Here! you ’tend to this. I want
to telephone.”

But when he ran in to the hotel office he found one of the racing
timekeepers there and from him he learned that Mr. Briggs’ car was
reported about fifty miles back on the road. It had suffered a
breakdown.

“Are you sure it’s his car?” demanded Dan. “I tell you that there is
another maroon car on the road.”

“Not in the list of racers,” said the timekeeper.

“No, sir. But are you sure it is Mr. Briggs that has broken down?”

“I just spoke to him over the telephone. I know him personally. I know
his voice.”

“Then there can be no mistake. But I believe that there is another
maroon car running under Mr. Briggs’ number,” and Dan explained briefly
what he knew about the car belonging to, or used by, the men who had
robbed Mr. Sudds and the Farmers’ Bank.

“This robbery of the postoffice at Farmingdale last night,” continued
Dan Speedwell, “looks very much like the work of the same crowd, too.
Besides, my brother and I are quite sure that these men passed us on the
road this morning. It was not Mr. Briggs in that maroon car, that is
sure. He would have stopped and spoken to us when he saw that we were
stalled.”

“I’ll send your information up and down the line,” promised the
timekeeper. “But there certainly has been no maroon car past here—in
either direction—to-day, or yesterday.”

When Dan got back to the car, Billy already had her cranked up. They ran
swiftly out into the highway, reached the down grade, shut off power,
and began to coast. For some ten or fifteen miles the map showed that
the road into the valley was very crooked; they dared not put much power
to their car. And sometimes when she merely coasted, the speedometer
showed a forty-five and fifty mile an hour pace!

Eighty-seven miles in an hour and three-quarters—that was the work cut
out for them. Half of it was down grade, at least; but it was only when
they were within twenty miles of the foot of the mountain that the
Speedwells were able to let her out and show just what the
Breton-Melville car could do on a gentle slope, and on a good road.

They took that stretch of twenty miles in seventeen minutes!

At the end of that sharp run Billy counted on his fingers and declared
that there were but eight cars ahead of them.

It was four o’clock when they drove through New Hapsburg at a twelve
mile an hour rate. Suddenly they came upon a car around which there was
quite a crowd. It was one of the contesting machines, Dan and Billy
knew, and as they shut off their engine they heard several wrangling
voices in the crowd.

“I tell ye I don’t care anything about no race!” cried one harsh voice.
“You’re under arrest for exceeding the speed limit through the streets
of this here city.”

“Another Josiah Somes!” chuckled Billy. “What car is it that’s pinched?”

“My goodness, that’s Burton Poole standing up there and waving his
pocketbook,” cried Dan.

“Oh, glory!” shouted Billy. “It’s number seven.”

Then they saw Chance Avery. His face was red, and he was too angry for
words. He saw the Breton-Melville car sliding past and he undoubtedly
had heard Billy’s joyous exclamation. If looks could burst a tire, Dan
and Billy would have had a bad blow-out right there!

“It won’t hold them long,” said Dan, as their car pulled past the crowd.
“Burton will pay the fine and they’ll come after us. Their time isn’t
up, it’s likely, before half-past five. They will reach Greenbaugh if we
do.”

“And we’re going to reach it,” acclaimed Billy, cheerfully. “Here’s the
town line, Dannie. Let her go!”

                              CHAPTER XXIV

                            AN OBSTACLE RACE

They reached the station on High street, Greenbaugh, with a few minutes
to spare. There were four cars already standing at the Carpenter House,
the best hotel in the place. It was too expensive an inn for the
Speedwell boys, however, and they drove around to another hostelry on a
side street.

Besides, the Carpenter House veranda, and the yard, and the street in
front of the hotel, were full of shouting, chaffing students from the
seminary. Whether Chance Avery was so very popular with his former
fellow students, or not, there was a great number interested in the
motor car race.

“We want to keep away from them. Then we’ll be sure to escape trouble. I
don’t want to talk with Chance just now,” said Dan Speedwell. “For I’m
sore and I might say something I’d be sorry for later.”

“He played us as mean a trick as ever was played,” declared Billy.

“He did indeed. But we have caught up with him again. He won’t get past
the Carpenter House to-night.”

Which was a fact, for after Dan and Billy had cleaned up their car and
had put their next day’s supply of gasoline under lock and key this
time, to be sure of it, they went out on High street and saw Chance and
Burton Poole with a crowd of college fellows, going to one of the
students’ boarding houses for supper.

The Speedwells ate their own supper, and then walked about the town
quietly. They learned that forty of the racing cars had reached
Greenbaugh during the evening. The streets were crowded with
sight-seers. Late in the evening the seminary boys made a demonstration.

They had fireworks on the campus and then paraded the streets in autos
and afoot, Burton Poole’s car in the lead with great placards on it.

Red fire and a noisy demonstration accompanied the parade; but the town
police kept good order. There was a big, six-seated car that belonged in
the town, and was hired by the seminary boys. This had a prominent place
in the parade, and the next morning, when Dan and Billy got out at
daybreak, they saw this machine, loaded with noisy but sleepy-looking
fellows, rolling down to the High street.

“They’ve made a night of it!” exclaimed Dan. “And I bet Chance and
Burton have been with them. They’ll feel just like running an auto
to-day—I don’t think!”

“All right. If they want to give themselves a handicap,” returned Billy,
“I won’t complain.”

“Let’s hurry and get away. I don’t want to see Chance Avery to-day if I
can help it.”

“You mean to keep ahead of him, then?” chuckled Billy.

“I’d like to.”

But when they ran their car out to the front of the Carpenter House,
several of the contestants had already gotten under way, and among them
was Burton Poole’s machine. The big automobile crowded with students
accompanied it out of town. Number seven had nearly half an hour’s start
of the Speedwells’ car.

But the Breton-Melville ran very easily. No cars passed the boys for the
first five miles. Then they saw a cloud of dust ahead and realized that
they were catching up with the students—and probably Poole’s car.

The six-seated observation car could not run very fast, and it was so
broad and heavy that it occupied more than a fair share of the road. Dan
and Billy could not see beyond this elephantine car, and did not know
how near number seven was.

The road was good and their motor had been running very nicely. As the
big car, with its cheering crowd, continued to fill the road, Dan was
obliged to pull down a little.

“Hoot again,” said Billy. “We want to get by. If Chance and Burton want
to play horse along the way, let them. We’re out for the gold cup.”

At that moment an auto came up behind them and slid by swiftly. It was
number twelve. When this car came up with the big omnibus, one of the
students on the back seat yelled something to the man managing the car,
and it swerved out just enough to let number twelve by.

Dan tried to follow. But before he could get the nose of number
forty-eight into the opening, the omnibus swung back into the middle of
the road again. The highway was narrow. There was no sidewalk on either
hand. It was a typical country road and on either hand was a steep bank
down to a barbed wire fence. To go into the ditch would finish any car!

“Hey there!” yelled Billy, standing up. “Let us by. Don’t hog the road,
fellows.”

“Who are you, sonny?” returned one of the smart boys on the back seat.

“Let ’em sit up and beg proper,” suggested another of the seminary
youths.

“Take your turn, brother,” advised another of the students. “We’ve got
the road now and we mean to keep it.”

“Be still, Billy,” advised Dan, quickly. “They can hold us back but a
little way. The road widens soon!”

But Dan was not a good prophet that time. The students evidently
intended to hold back Chance Avery’s rival at any cost. Within five
minutes, after guying the Speedwells unmercifully, and holding them down
to a snail’s pace, the chauffeur of the heavy car suddenly brought it
square across the road, backed a little, and then halted. His car was an
effectual barrier to all traffic, going in either direction!

“Oh! Oh! Oh! Some-thing’s-bust-ed!” yelled the gang in chorus.

Dan and Billy then got a sight of the road ahead. It was empty. Chance
was perhaps ten miles ahead, or more. And the Speedwells were stalled.
The driver of the students’ car could claim that he could not move his
auto. There were no policemen about. The following contestants might be
held here for an hour, or more.

Dan and Billy were helpless. And the students were having a fine time at
their expense. Dan had to fairly threaten his brother to keep Billy
silent; to enter into a wordy discussion with the fellows would only
have pleased the scamps too well. They were primed to make sport of the
Riverdale boys and undoubtedly would have handled them roughly had Dan
allowed Billy to loosen his tongue.

For ten minutes the big car stood there, the chauffeur making believe
fumble with the mechanism. Then suddenly there sounded a warning
automobile horn from the direction of Greenbaugh. A car, in a cloud of
dust, was dashing over the road toward them.

“Now, by jings!” exclaimed Billy, “they’ll have to do something.”

“No reason why they shouldn’t hold up the whole string of contestants
for a while,” muttered Dan. “Wait.”

But this car did not seem to be one of the racers. At least, it had no
placard on it. Suddenly Billy exclaimed:

“Isn’t that Mr. Briggs’ car? He’s caught up with us!”

“It’s not numbered,” objected Dan.

“I don’t care! It’s maroon—and a big car——”

Meanwhile the students on the omnibus did nothing toward pulling out.
The maroon car reduced speed abruptly. There were three men in it—a
small one at the wheel and two others in the tonneau. All were coated
and masked with dust goggles.

“What’s the matter with you?” demanded one of the men in the tonneau,
standing up.

Billy caught Dan by the hand, and whispered:

“It’s him!”

Dan needed no explanation. He knew what his brother meant at once. This
was the leader of the trio of bank robbers—the motor thieves. Billy knew
the fellow’s voice.

A chorus of contradictory explanations were shouted by the seminary
boys. It was plain that they proposed to hold up this car, too, rather
than let the Speedwells by.

“You can’t move your car, eh?” snapped the man in the maroon auto.

He sprang out fearlessly and strode to the side of the huge machine. As
he started to climb up to the front seat one of the fellows tried to
push him back.

That particular seminary student was instantly treated to the surprise
of his life. The man reached out, seized the boy’s collar, and ripped
him from his hold on the car. He pitched him bodily, with one fling,
into the ditch beside the road.

He then vaulted into the chauffeur’s seat, seized the lever, and started
the machine. The engine was still running. Instead of starting it ahead,
the man deliberately backed the car into the ditch on the other side of
the road, and leaped down, leaving it there with its forward wheels in
the air!

Half the students had tumbled off when the car bounced into the ditch.
The maroon machine was brought by the chauffeur past the disabled
omnibus, and the man who had wrecked it leaped into his own machine
again.

“Quick, Billy!” whispered Dan. “We’ll get after them.”

Their own car was ready. They ran right around the big machine, in the
wake of the maroon auto. The latter was speeding away along the narrow
road.

“We must catch them, Dan!” cried Billy, as number forty-eight began to
hum again.

“We will indeed,” agreed his brother. “It’s the robbers’ car—no doubt of
it. We must hang to them until we find an officer to make the arrest.
Whatever happens—whether we win the race for the golden cup, or not, we
must not let that maroon car escape this time!”

                              CHAPTER XXV

                          THE CAR AND THE CUP

The Breton-Melville car, driven by the Speedwell brothers, was not forty
seconds behind the big maroon automobile at the start. The latter was
perhaps five hundred yards ahead; but she never gained on the Speedwells
a yard during the run that followed.

Olin City was somewhere about a hundred and eighty miles from the spot
where the Greenbaugh Seminary boys had obstructed the road. The two
cars—the maroon and the drab—raced over the highways to Olin City in
just four hours.

Just before reaching Olin City the two flying autos passed a machine
that had suffered a blow-out. It was number seven. Chance and Burton
Poole were out of the car working as rapidly as they could to adjust a
new tire.

Billy had something else to think of, and he did not even yell at
Chance. The fact that they had passed number seven, after all Chance had
done to try and retard them, was a small matter now.

The three desperate criminals ahead must be apprehended. They came to
the Olin City line and the maroon car still kept on with but slightly
reduced speed. The first policeman they saw held up a warning hand to
them. Then he leaped into the middle of the road as Dan and Billy roared
down upon him.

“Get him aboard—quick, Dan!” advised the younger brother. “Then we’ll
see if we can’t overtake those scoundrels.”

Dan was already shutting down. The car had not quite stopped when the
police officer leaped aboard.

“Say, you boys! We’ll have to stop you if you can’t obey the law,”
declared the officer.

“How about that car ahead?” demanded Dan.

“They got away from me.”

“We can catch it for you, if you say so,” said Billy, grinning. “And it
will be a great catch, too. Those fellows, I believe, robbed the
postoffice at Farmingdale night before last.”

“You don’t mean it!” exclaimed the policeman.

“Indeed I do,” said Dan, earnestly. “At least, my brother and I are
positive that they are the men who robbed the Farmers’ Bank of Riverdale
and committed another robbery in that town.”

“The motor car thieves!” exclaimed the policeman. “You don’t mean it?”

“We do. We’re sure of it.”

“Wait! Let those two other men get aboard,” said the officer, beckoning
to two brother officers standing on the corner. When the men had hopped
into the tonneau, the first officer said:

“Now let her go. If you can catch that big car, do it. Never mind the
law—smash it to flinders!”

The maroon automobile had slowed down a good bit. The criminals were not
desirous of getting arrested for breaking the speed law. And when Dan
brought his car close up behind the maroon painted machine, and the
biggest policeman leaped into the thieves’ car, the latter believed they
were arrested merely for an infringement of the city ordinance.

“We will fix this up all right with the judge, officer,” said the leader
of the gang. “The court is sitting—yes?”

“I reckon so,” said the cop. “But we’ll run over to the chief’s office
first. I shouldn’t be surprised if _he’d_ like to see you.”

The three criminals exchanged glances. They might have shown fight there
on the public street, but Dan steered his machine around the maroon car
and headed it off. The chauffeur had to stop. The three officers each
seized their man and—the arrest was made!

It then became necessary for the boys to go to the office of the chief
of police, too. The delay was considerable, but after hearing the story
of the Speedwells the commander of the Olin City police force worked
quickly.

He called up the Riverdale Bank over the long distance ’phone and Mr.
Crawley and Mr. Baird went sponsor for the Speedwell brothers. They were
therefore allowed to depart, for the criminals would have to be
extradited from this state to the one in which the first crime had been
committed.

Burton Poole’s car—and others—had gotten ahead of the Speedwell boys by
this time and they had but an hour more to run that day. They whirled
out of Olin City, however, in a cloud of dust and made Breckenridge
Station, thirty-two miles on the road, in that hour.

When they registered with the timekeeper in Breckenridge they were seven
hundred and forty-nine miles over the course. There were two hundred and
fifty-nine miles between them and the Compton Motordrome.

“And the worst of the running yet to come,” said Dan. “How many cars did
he say were ahead of us?”

“Thirteen have gone on, having from fifteen minutes to two hours to run
on to-day’s record. And here comes a slew of them up the street,” said
Billy.

Indeed, there was a larger number of cars in Breckenridge that night
than there had been at Greenbaugh at the end of the previous day’s run.

In the morning the cars had to be started ten minutes apart as they were
at the beginning of the endurance test. And it was raining—a fine,
penetrating drizzle—that made the traveling most unpleasant. The wheels
skidded, too, and the best car in the race could not make time over the
slushy roads.

Besides, the second climb of the mountain chain was just ahead. The
Speedwells struck it an hour before noon. Half way up the steep ascent
they passed number seven—stuck in the muddy ruts. Chance and Burton were
floundering around, trying to pry out their heavy car.

“This isn’t any fun!” shouted Poole, recognizing the Speedwells. “But
how did you manage to catch up to us again?”

“We never would have escaped Chance Avery’s friends outside of
Greenbaugh if he’d had his way!” cried Billy in reply. “But now I tell
you what it is, Burton: It looks to me as though we were seeing you for
the last time in this race. Fare thee well!” he added with a mocking
smile.

“You’d better not crow too loud, youngster,” growled Dan. “We don’t know
what may happen to us yet.”

But nothing could convince Billy now that they hadn’t got Poole’s car
beaten. Their own lighter machine worked much better on the heavy road.

There were ten cars in advance of them when the Speedwells reached the
pass through the hills and started down the incline which ended at the
plain on which Riverdale, Compton, and neighboring towns were built.
With seven of these cars they caught up at Lorillord at the end of their
fourth day’s run. They were then seventy-two miles from Compton. The
three cars ahead were respectively sixty-eight miles, fifty-nine miles,
and fifty-six miles from the end of the endurance run.

“If it clears off before morning, we’re beaten,” said Dan, with
confidence. “But our car is a regular mudlark. If it keeps on raining we
may plough through and catch up to all three of those other cars.”

“Suppose they wait till it clears off before they start to-morrow?”
suggested Billy.

“If you’ll read your little book you’ll find that isn’t allowed. There’s
only fifteen hours’ recess allowed between the end of one day’s run and
the beginning of another.”

The boys were first up in the morning. The weather bureau reported no
hope of a change in the falling weather; but the other autoists at the
hotel hesitated to set forth early.

Not so, however, Dan and Billy. They had overhauled their car as usual
the night before. They were well acquainted with the stretch of road
before them. At seven o’clock they wheeled out before the hotel, took
the time from the starter, and whirled away, spraying the mud on either
side from under their wheels, in a wide fan.

Only one of their rivals was on the road before them, and Dan and Billy
raced and passed that car within the first fifteen minutes, and did not
see it again until it reached the Compton Motordrome.

There was one car, however, that kept close on their trail. They heard
it frequently and sometimes caught glimpses of it; but it was so far
away that neither Dan nor Billy could identify it. They, however, feared
this speedy car. Indeed, although they knew now that they would arrive
first at the end of the run, they were not sure that they would have won
this glorious race.

It was with fear and trembling that they passed over the line, ran into
the big arena and saw their time marked up on the board: A thousand and
eight miles in forty-three hours and four minutes.

The car behind them shot into the motordrome and proved to be Mr.
Darringford’s.

“I believe I’ve beat you, boys!” he cried, leaping out of his car.

But the time keeper announced his time as forty-three hours, fifteen
minutes, twenty-four seconds.

“I declare!” laughed the gentleman, “it will be nothing to brag of, no
matter who wins the gold cup. The weather was against fast running
yesterday and this morning. Here comes another!”

It was number seven. The heavy car rolled in beside the Speedwells’ and
came to a groaning halt. It was nearly shaken to pieces. Chance had
certainly punished his partner’s auto hard during those last few miles.

But to no purpose. Their time was forty-four hours flat, and there were
several cars that beat number seven. Burton came and shook hands warmly
with Dan and Billy, while Chance sneaked away.

“I just found out about what Chance did to you back at Farmingdale,”
Burton said. “I want you to know that I had nothing to do with any such
mean business—nor did I know he put his friends at the seminary up to
holding you back on the road. Mr. Briggs was at the hotel we stopped at
last night and he had the whole story—and about your capturing the motor
car robbers, too. I hope you’ve won the race. I’d like to have beaten
you if I could have done so fairly; but Chance and I get through with
each other right here and now—believe me!”

It was some time before the uncertainty regarding who had captured the
race was over. Finally however, it was shown beyond doubt that the
Speedwell boys were the winners. The nearest car to their record had
made the distance in forty-three hours, nine and one-half minutes. Among
the first few cars it had been a remarkably close race.

Dan and Billy went home by train and carried the handsome gold cup with
them. The little speech Mr. Briggs made, praising their pluck, and
particularly their bravery, made the ears of the boys burn. Their
capture of the motor and bank robbers had been printed in the papers and
Dan and Billy were lionized not a little when they got home.

The Riverdale _Star_ again had a long story in it about them. And the
editor ran a picture of their Breton-Melville car, too. The boys could
have sold the auto at a fancy price had they so desired.

“I don’t know but we’re foolish not to take the offer,” said Billy. “We
might get a cheaper car, and own a motor launch beside. And I would love
to have a launch by next spring.”

But one day Mr. Baird, the bank cashier, sent for them. The boys learned
that the three motor thieves had been convicted of the robbery of the
bank, and had received sentences aggregating thirteen years.

“The Farmers’ Bank has put to your joint account, boys, the sum of five
hundred dollars,” the cashier told them. “We do not claim that that
entirely repays you for your work in identifying the robbers and causing
their arrest. Mr. Crawley and I both feel we are still your debtors,”
and he shook the boys’ hands warmly.

This unexpected windfall perhaps explains why our readers who have
become interested in the adventures of Dan and Billy can follow their
history further in the next volume of this series, to be entitled, “The
Speedwell Boys and Their Power Launch; Or, To the Rescue of the
Castaways.”

Dan and Billy remain true to their speedy automobile and to their
beautiful Flying Feather motorcycles; but they have conquered swift
locomotion on the land; now they long to try their fortunes on the
water. And having proved themselves to be courageous, industrious and
honorable we may believe thoroughly in their future success.

                                THE END

                        THE BOYS’ OUTING LIBRARY
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                          By FRANK V. WEBSTER

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             Cloth. 12mo. Over 200 pages each. Illustrated.
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_Bomba lived far back in the jungles of the Amazon with a half-demented
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In the depth of the jungle Bomba lives a life replete with thrilling
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2. BOMBA THE JUNGLE BOY AT THE MOVING MOUNTAIN _or The Mystery of the
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Bomba travels through the jungle, encountering wild beasts and hostile
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3. BOMBA THE JUNGLE BOY AT THE GIANT CATARACT _or Chief Nascanora and
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From the Moving Mountain Bomba travels to the Giant Cataract, still
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Mystery_

Jaguar Island was a spot as dangerous as it was mysterious and Bomba was
warned to keep away. But the plucky boy sallied forth and met adventures
galore.

5. BOMBA THE JUNGLE BOY IN THE ABANDONED CITY _or A Treasure Ten
Thousand Years Old_

Years ago this great city had sunk out of sight beneath the trees of the
jungle. A wily half-breed and his tribe thought to carry away its
treasure of gold and precious stones. Bomba follows.

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_Stories of the great west, with cattle ranches as a setting, related in
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 1. THE BOY RANCHERS
 _or Solving the Mystery at Diamond X_
 Two eastern boys visit their cousin. They
 become involved in an exciting mystery.

 2. THE BOY RANCHERS IN CAMP
 _or The Water Fight at Diamond X_
 Returning for a visit, the two eastern lads learn, with delight, that
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 _or The Diamond X After Cattle Rustlers_
 Our boy heroes take the trail after Del Pinzo and his outlaws.

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 _or Trailing the Yaquis_
 Rosemary and Floyd are captured by the Yaqui Indians but the
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 _or Fighting the Sheep Herders_
 Dangerous struggle against desperadoes for land rights brings out
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 _or Diamond X and the Lost Mine_
 One night a strange old miner almost dead from hunger and hardship
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 7. THE BOY RANCHERS ON ROARING RIVER
 _or Diamond X and the Chinese Smugglers_
 The boy ranchers help capture Delton’s gang who were engaged in
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   1. BASEBALL JOE OF THE SILVER STARS
     _or The Rivals of Riverside_
   Joe is an everyday country boy who loves to
   play baseball and particularly to pitch.

   2. BASEBALL JOE ON THE SCHOOL NINE
     _or Pitching for the Blue Banner_
   Joe’s great ambition was to go to boarding
   school and play on the school team.

   3. BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
     _or Pitching for the College Championship_
   In his second year at Yale Joe becomes a varsity pitcher.

   4. BASEBALL JOE IN THE CENTRAL LEAGUE
     _or Making Good as a Professional Pitcher_
   From Yale College to a baseball league of our Central States.

   5. BASEBALL JOE IN THE BIG LEAGUE
     _or A Young Pitcher’s Hardest Struggles_
   From the Central League Joe goes to the St. Louis Nationals.

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     _or Making Good as a Twirler in the Metropolis_
   Joe was traded to the Giants and became their mainstay.

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     _or Pitching for the Championship_
   What Joe did to win the series will thrill the most jaded reader.

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     _or Pitching on a Grand Tour_
   The Giants and the All-Americans tour the world.

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     _or The Greatest Pitcher and Batter on Record_
   Joe becomes the greatest batter in the game.

   10. BASEBALL JOE SAVING THE LEAGUE
     _or Breaking up a Great Conspiracy_
   Throwing the game meant a fortune but also dishonor.

   11. BASEBALL JOE CAPTAIN OF THE TEAM
     _or Bitter Struggles on the Diamond_
   Joe is elevated to the position of captain.

   12. BASEBALL JOE CHAMPION OF THE LEAGUE
     _or The Record that was Worth While_
   A plot is hatched to put Joe’s pitching arm out of commission.

   13. BASEBALL JOE CLUB OWNER
     _or Putting the Home Town on the Map_
   Joe develops muscle weakness and is ordered off the field for a
   year.

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                           BY LESTER CHADWICK
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            _Mr. Chadwick has played on the diamond and on the gridiron
            himself._

                         1. THE RIVAL PITCHERS
                     _A Story of College Baseball_

            Tom Parsons, a “hayseed,” makes good on the scrub team of
            Randall College.

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                     _A Story of College Football_

            A football story, told in Mr. Chadwick’s best style, that is
            bound to grip the reader from the start.

                           3. BATTING TO WIN
                     _A Story of College Baseball_

            Tom Parsons and his friends Phil and Sid are the leading
            players on Randall College team. There is a great game.

                        4. THE WINNING TOUCHDOWN
                     _A Story of College Football_

            After having to reorganize their team at the last moment,
            Randall makes a touchdown that won a big game.

                      5. FOR THE HONOR OF RANDALL
                     _A Story of College Athletics_

            The winning of the hurdle race and long-distance run is
            extremely exciting.

                       6. THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS
                   _A Story of College Water Sports_

            Tom, Phil and Sid prove as good at aquatic sports as they
            are on track, gridiron and diamond

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    Transcriber's Notes

    Italicized phrases are presented by surrounding the text with
    _underscores_. Boldface phrases are presented by surrounding the
    text with =equal signs=. Small capitals have been rendered in full
    capitals.

    Punctuation has been standardized. Minor spelling and typographic
    errors were corrected silently, except as noted below.

    Table of contents, chapter 1 title - changed "Manoeuvers" to
    "Manœuvers" to be consistent with other usage in the book

    page 28 - changed "re-action" to "reaction"

    page 80 - changed "re-painted" to "repainted" to be consistent with
    other use of "repainting" and "repainted" in the book

    page 167 - changed "XII" to "XXII"