Part 3 (2/2)

Indeed, this seemed to cool the visitors down somewhat and they exchanged surprised glances. But they soon recovered their confidence and went on to describe the speed qualities of their car with ever-increasing enthusiasm.

”It was just a short time ago,” said one whose name turned out to be Ralph Quinby, ”that we took the 'Gray Ghost' around the old race track just outside the town, and we averaged over fifty miles an hour. We could have gone much faster too, only Mr. Thompson would not let us.

I'll just bet your auto couldn't go as fast as that.”

It was now the turn of their hosts to look doubtful. They were sure, however, that the ”Red Scout” could hold its own with any other car, and as they thought of their idolized driver, Bert Wilson, their confidence came back with a rush.

”Well,” replied Tom, drawing a long breath, ”you fellows evidently think you could win in a race and we just _know_ that we could, so I guess the only way to settle the dispute is to run off a race somewhere and prove which is the better machine. I know we'd be willing if you would, wouldn't we, boys?”

There was a chorus of approving shouts from his companions, but the visitors only smiled in a superior fas.h.i.+on, and evidently thought there could be but one conclusion to any race in which their car was entered.

Meanwhile, Mr. Hollis and Mr. Thompson were holding an earnest conversation in which the latter seemed to be urging some point about which Mr. Hollis apparently hesitated. In fact, Mr. Thompson was trying to get Mr. Hollis to give his consent to a race between the cars owned by the two camps. But the latter thought that it would involve too much risk for the boys who drove the machines.

”You see, it's this way,” he was saying, ”you and I, Thompson, are responsible for the safety of these boys. We both feel toward them as though they belonged to us and if anything happened to them we would never forgive ourselves. It seems to me too big a risk to take merely for the sake of seeing who owns the faster car.”

”Yes, you're dead right there, of course,” returned Mr. Thompson, ”but then I don't think the risk is so great as you imagine. I have seen the track they would use, provided the race was run, and I think there would be little, if any, danger. The track has not been used for several years and most of the fence is missing, so that if they ran off the course itself, it would only be a matter of running over the gra.s.s until they stopped. You know me well enough to realize that I would not sanction anything that contained too large an element of peril. As for the slight risk that undoubtedly exists, it seems to me that it would not hurt the boys to take it, and it would teach them self-reliance and confidence.”

”As far as that goes,” said Mr. Hollis, smiling reluctantly, ”my boys have too much confidence in themselves and I have to be constantly curbing their tendencies toward taking chances. However, I have every confidence in your judgment, so I suppose I might as well consent this once. I wish to have it understood, however, that this is the last as well as the first race they ever run, win or lose.”

”That suits me all right, so I guess we can consider it settled,”

answered Mr. Thompson, ”what do you say to going over and having a look at the machines? You haven't seen our car yet, have you?”

”No, that's a pleasure still in store for me,” replied Mr. Hollis; and the two men rose and strolled over to where the cars stood, their bra.s.s work glittering in the light of the dancing campfire.

By this time most of the boys had gathered around the cars, but they saluted and made way respectfully for their leaders as they came up.

They both smiled when they saw Bert and Ralph Quinby, for they were so engrossed in the discussion of the respective merits and appliances of their cars that they did not even notice the coming of their leaders.

Such terms as ”gear ratios,” ”revolutions per minute” and ”three point suspension” filled the air, and Mr. Hollis whispered to Mr. Thompson: ”I'll wager that those boys saturate their handkerchiefs with gasoline, so that whenever they get a block away from a machine they can smell gasoline and feel at home again.”

”Wouldn't be surprised if they did,” laughed Mr. Thompson.

”Here, you fellows come out of your trance,” called d.i.c.k, and Bert and Ralph turned quickly around and saluted.

Their leaders returned the salute, and Mr. Thompson said: ”Well, I suppose both you boys think you have a pretty fast machine there. How would you like to have a test of speed?”

There was a chorus of excited cries and exclamations from the boys, and their leaders smiled indulgently.

Bert stepped forward and said: ”I think, sir, that I speak for Mr.

Quinby as well as myself when I say that nothing would suit us better.”

Ralph gave a nod of a.s.sent and Bert went on: ”We will both promise to be cautious, and I think if we take proper precautions we will be able to run off a good race without an accident. How long do you think the race ought to be?”

”How long is the track that you propose using?” inquired Mr. Hollis.

”Why, it's just one mile, isn't it Ralph?” asked Mr. Thompson.

”Yes, sir,” replied Ralph.

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