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