CHAPTER VIPOKE TAKES A FLYER
It was nearly a mile from the council rock to the road on which the club was to meet Lon Gates on his return from the Ridge; and as the afternoon was well advanced the boys made a forced march of it. All of them were panting from a dog-trot across the last field, when they came to the highway, and saw the Parker car approaching at a leisurely pace. So, when Lon pulled up and grinned at them cheerfully, evidencing no desire for haste, none of them was in a hurry to climb into the machine.
“What did you think of the pond?” Lon inquired. “And how’s the modern improvements progressin’? Gettin’ to be quite meetropolitan, eh?”
Sam laughed. “We could see a lot of building going on, but we didn’t notice a crowd, Lon. Fact is, we stayed on the other side of the lake.”
“Stumbled on a bully place and tied up there,” Step contributed.
Lon wagged his head sagely. “Reckon you made the best pick, at that. As I remember it, the pootiest side of the pond is across from the syndicate’s land. And there used to be a big rock——”
“Scooped out toward the water—like part of a saucer, you know?” Poke broke in.
“That’s the feller.”
“Well, it’s there yet.”
Lon’s eyes twinkled. “Do tell! And yet I don’t know as it’s so surprisin’, rocks havin’ a way o’ stayin’ put. Set a good example for folks, don’t they? But, as I was sayin’, I remember that old rock and the fishin’ we used to have jest opposite it—bass, mostly. And up back a piece was a spring. I tell you, boys, if I was goin’ campin’ at the pond, that’s jest about where I’d tie up.”
“It did seem to be a good place, and I’d——” Sam began, but paused in mid-sentence. “Why—what’s that?”
Everybody had heard the sounds which had caught Sam’s attention. Up the road, in the direction from which Lon had come, somethingwas happening, something extraordinarily and violently noisy. There was a succession of reports; then a broken and uneven rattle; then another series of explosions, louder than before and evidently nearer.
“Great Scott! It must be a machine-gun!” gasped Step.
“If it is, we’ll have to duck,” said Herman Boyd. “The thing’s coming this way.”
“And here it is!” cried Poke.
SOMETHING SHOT INTO VIEW
SOMETHING SHOT INTO VIEW
SOMETHING SHOT INTO VIEW
Something shot into view, a black something which was raising a tremendous cloud of dust and which was traveling at reckless speed. Lon shouted a warning to the boys to stand aside, threw on his power, and steered his car far into the ditch. As he did so, it was as if a roaring cyclone swept past. The noise of it deafened the club, the dust it sent swirling in clouds choked them, its velocity dazed them. That the cause of the commotion was an automobile they realized, but none of them had an idea what manner of car it might be, or, indeed, how many passengers it carried.
Lon steered back into the road.
“All aboard, everybody!” he called. “There’s a feller that’s findin’ the goin’ toogood to last. Let’s follow and see if we can pick up enough o’ the pieces to tell what kind of a machine ’twas.”
No second invitation was needed. The boys swarmed into the touring car.
“Hurry!” Sam urged. “That fellow’s in trouble now. You can’t hear his engine any more.”
It was quite true. The loud reports had ceased abruptly; there were no sounds from beyond the bend in the road where the speeding driver had vanished.
Lon gave his young friends an excellent exhibition of how fast a careful chauffeur can go, on occasion. But he had not far to go—less than a quarter-mile, in fact. Then he was throwing on his brakes, and whistling shrilly as he did so.
The other car—or what was left of it—was across the ditch. It lay on its side, with its front axle jammed against a boulder. The cover of the hood had been torn off, and the engine was exposed. The leather top was in ribbons; the cushions had vanished. One back wheel lay against the stone wall bordering the road.
“Jee-ru-salem!” Lon exclaimed. “I’ll bet a lot o’ things happened to the citizen managin’ that joy ride, and happened all of a sudden! But where is he?”
As if in answer a figure raised itself beyond the wall. Lon drew a long breath of relief.
“Say, but I thought he must ’a’ been killed, sure for sartain! It’s an amazin’ mercy he’s got a leg left to stand on!”
With that, Lon was out of the car, and striding to the stranger’s aid, the boys pressing closely behind him. But, as the event proved, there was very little for them to do.
The man—he was a tall, gaunt person with a wisp of chin beard—seemed to have come to no great bodily harm, though his clothing was ripped and torn, his hat was missing, and the sole of one of his shoes flapped like a loose slipper when he moved. From the clump of brush, into which he had been projected, and which mercifully had broken the force of his fall, he limped forward, a step at a time, pausing to bend a knee, test an elbow, or otherwise investigate the extent of his injuries. Lon tried to offer him a supporting arm, but was waved back.
“No; let me stand on my own feet, Mister—kinder a luxury I find it to be able to,” said the man. “Say, but we must ’a’ been goin’ some!”
“All o’ that—and then a little more,” Lon assured him.
The man rubbed his eyes. “I dunno’s I happen to know you folks, but I cal’late you’re the crowd I passed a rod or so back.”
“Call it a couple o’ forty-rods.”
“Well, mebbe. There was sort of a blur side of the road, but I’d got other things to think about. And say! was we touchin’ ground anywhere when we went by you?”
“Not as I noticed,” Lon told him.
The man nodded. “She was a goer, all right, that machine! But she wa’n’t no lady’s drivin’ car. Feller that let me have her said that, and, by gum, he hit it!”
“Looks that way,” Lon agreed. “But don’t you belong over Waterville way? And ain’t your name Haskins? ’Tis, eh? Thought I’d seen you before.”
“Oh, I’m Jabe Haskins, sure enough,” said the other. “Don’t wonder you didn’t recognize me fust-off. Guess I must have agedtwenty years while I was shootin’ over that stun wall. You see, I was wonderin’ which of the fifty-seven possible ways I’d hit when I landed; but pshaw! I was clean off the track, for I hit all of ’em. Guess that’s what saved my neck—kinder distributed the shock, y’know. But I’ll never again be the man I was! Whew! but I’m all one ache, and dented from one end of me to the other!”
“Course, if you want to over-speed——” Lon began, but Haskins cut him short.
“’Twa’n’t what I wanted to do, Mister, but what that blessed machine did. Bolted, she did! Took the bit in her teeth, and went it for keeps! Fust time I’d been runnin’ her, y’see. Jest swapped for her. Turned in a hoss and somethin’ to boot and——”
It was Lon’s chance to interrupt. “I’m placin’ you now for sure. Done a lot o’ hoss tradin’, hain’t you, in your time?”
“Yep—that’s my reg’lar line. But I got ambitious and wanted to try my luck with one of them chug-chugs. So we settled a trade, we did, and t’other party showed me how to set her goin’, and I climbed aboard and started out to give her a warmin’-up jog, as you mightsay. But look here, Mister! we hit a race gait right off, and the more I tried to pull her in, the more we touched only the high places. So all I could do was to hope to hold the track and wait for her to run down—which also she didn’t. Say, what do you s’pose was the matter? Feller I got her from—he’s a left-hander, he is. That make any difference, would it, in her riggin’? All I know is, when I pressed a jimcrack, she jumped; and when I quit that and started in on something else, she jumped harder. Wa’n’t half-broke, she wa’n’t!”
Lon stepped back and inspected the wreck in the ditch.
“Dunno’s I can quite place this machine,” he said presently. “Strange make to me. Never saw one like it before.”
“Good reason—there ain’t no other like her. Only one made and then they bust the mold. Leastwise, that’s what the party said.”
“Umph!” said Lon. He was still looking closely at the car, which was—or had been—a runabout or roadster, with a single seat, very high backed, and a peculiarly lumpy, box-like construction at the rear.
Mr. Haskins took a few limping steps,groaning slightly. It was plain enough that, while he had escaped broken bones, he must be sorely bruised. He glared for a moment at the ruins.
“Party allowed he built her himself,” he explained. “Let on he—he assembled her himself—yes, that’s what he called it, assembled. Got tired of takin’ other folks’ dust on the road, so he figgered on givin’ her plenty of power—and, by gum, he done it! He was makin’ his brags about the engine—said ’twa’n’t the ordinary automobile style, but a special high-speed affair, that’d been meant for one of them flyin’ machines—hey, what’s the matter, sonny?”
The question was due to a sudden movement by Poke, who in new eagerness to examine the motor, almost upset Mr. Haskins.
Poke made no reply. Mr. Haskins, having recovered his balance, resumed his observations:
“Wal, I reckon I was givin’ a pooty fair imitation of flyin’, myself. But ’twa’n’t no business for a man of my age and habits to be in—I see that before we’d gone a hundred yards. And now see what’s happened to thepair of us—me and the machine both! And to think that I gave something to boot in makin’ the trade!”
“Threw in a horse, too, didn’t you?” queried Lon.
Mr. Haskins grinned wryly. “I sure did! That ain’t what hurts, though. The hoss—wal, I didn’t give no guarantee with him; but the money—say, that was real money, and I might as well ’a’ thrown it to the birds! And what have I got to show for it? Jest a junk heap in a ditch that ain’t wuth haulin’ home.”
Poke, who had been peering at the motor, straightened his back, seemed to be about to speak, changed his intention, and moved slowly away from the car. As he passed Step, he touched his arm. Sam in a moment more saw the two, with their heads together, conferring earnestly.
Lon made a leisurely circuit of the wreck, inspecting it from all points of view. Mr. Haskins sat down on the ground, and resumed investigation of his contusions.
“When they get through stickin’ court plaster on me, I’ll be wuss off than a tattooed man in a show,” he announced gloomily. “Talkabout barbed wire! ’Tain’t got nothin’ on a good, healthy thorn bush, when you dive in, head fust!”
“We’ll take you to a doctor,” Lon offered. “Whenever you’re ready we’ll start.”
Mr. Haskins, with a groan or two, gained his feet.
Poke left Step, and hurried to Sam.
“Say, got any money?” he whispered. “Quick! Let me have all you’ve got!”
Sam mechanically dug a hand into his pocket. “I—I’ve only some change, Poke. How much do you need? And what do you need it for?”
Poke groaned as soulfully as Mr. Haskins had groaned. “Oh, but you always have money, Sam!” he urged. “Look and make sure!”
Sam’s hand came out of his pocket. It held a half-dollar, a dime, and a few pennies.
“There’s my cash,” he said. “Count it for yourself.”
Poke was a picture of despondency. “’Tisn’t enough—it can’t be enough. I’ve got to have some dollars, anyway.”
“What for?” Sam asked curiously.
Poke clutched his arm. “You know the fix I’m in—about debts, I mean? I owe all you fellows.”
“Nonsense!” said Sam sharply. “We’ve told you over and over again to forget it.”
There were times when the plump Poke could assume an air of melancholy dignity. He had it now, as he said:
“I can’t forget it. You wouldn’t, and couldn’t, if you were in my shoes.”
“Well?” said Sam inquiringly. Poke’s debts, as earlier accounts of the affairs of the Safety First Club have related, followed an unhappy episode, in which a costly vase was destroyed. With the help of his chums, Poke had paid the bill, but the contributions had taxed their resources.
“Well, I mean to pay you fellows back, and I think I see a way to do it. I’ve told Step, and he’s strong for the scheme.”
“Oh, is he?” Sam’s tone was not enthusiastic; Step was more likely to be a sympathizer than a coolly calculating counselor.
“You bet he is! And Step’s all right.”
“Of course he is—he means well. But what’s the idea?”
“The bulliest ever! It’s the chance of a lifetime! But I say, Sam!” Mr. Haskins was limping toward the Parker car. “Sam, I can’t let him go till I find out if the thing can be worked. But, if you haven’t any money, who in the crowd has?”
“Lon might have some. He generally——”
Poke waited to hear no more. He sprang to Lon, caught his sleeve, began to plead with all his eloquence:
“Do me the biggest favor a fellow ever asked you to do! Lend me some money. I’ll pay you back, sure, and I’ll be your friend all my days. Oh, but I’m in dead earnest, ’deed I am!”
“Does look that way,” Lon admitted. “But what do you want money for, out here? How you goin’ to manage to spend it?”
Poke dropped his voice, but Mr. Haskins and Sam heard as well as Lon.
“I want to buy that motor.”
“What! That mess?”
“Yes; I’ve got a scheme. I want it.”
“Heh?” Mr. Haskins had turned, andwas hobbling back. “Heh? thinkin’ of buyin’ that engine, be you? What’ll you give?”
“How much will you sell it for?”
“Hundred dollars,” said Mr. Haskins promptly. “Hundred—and dirt cheap at that. That ain’t no common, ordinary machine, young man.”
Poor Poke’s face lengthened. “Oh, a hundred?” he repeated faintly.
“Altogether too much!” Lon said with decision.
Mr. Haskins shot him a wrathful glance but spoke smoothly:
“Oh, call that a fust askin’ price. And, seein’ as how we’re all friends together, and how the machine’s a little jolted, as you might say, suppose you say what you think’s a fair offer.”
Lon turned to Poke, and saw the eagerness in his eyes. He took out an old-fashioned wallet, opened it, extracted a couple of bills.
“Poke,” he said, “I guess you’ve sot your heart on this foolishness. If you have—wal, I ain’t no connooshur on relics, and I dunno the goin’ price o’ curios, but I don’t mind lendin’ you a dollar or two.”
“If you’re lookin’ for speed, young man,” Mr. Haskins urged, “you won’t have to look no further. You seen me and you seen how I was goin’ it, when I wa’n’t half tryin’. And fifty dollars ain’t so wuss when——”
“Oh, fifty’s too much,” Poke said hastily.
“It’s dirt cheap,” Mr. Haskins insisted.
Lon glanced inquiringly at Sam, grunted, and somewhat ostentatiously prepared to return the bills to the pocketbook. Poke blanched, but of all concerned Mr. Haskins appeared to be most deeply affected. There was something like a sob in his voice as he said:
“Oh, come now! ’Tain’t good luck to start a trade and stop this way. And a good, enterprisin’ youngster can have a lot of fun playin’ with a crackerjack engine like this, and so——”
“I don’t want it to play with,” Poke objected with dignity. “And all I care for is the motor; the rest of the machine would be of no use to me.”
Mr. Haskins was watching Lon and the disappearing bills.
“Say, make me a bid, if you don’t like the askin’ price,” said he. “I ain’t hoggish, andI allers did fancy doin’ favors for folks that treat me right.”
“And that hoss you swapped for the car wa’n’t so much of a hoss, after all, come to think of it,” suggested Lon shrewdly.
Mr. Haskins grinned. “I swan! but maybe there’s something to that, too. Still, he could stand up and keep goin’.”
“That’s more’n you can say for the machine,” Lon remarked pointedly.
Mr. Haskins bent over the wreckage for another brief inspection.
“Huh! She does seem to be kinder generally foundered-like,” he admitted. “And you say you don’t care for the hide and hoofs, eh? The body and wheels, I mean? Wal, what’ll you give?”
Poke caught Lon’s eye. For the life of him he couldn’t explain how he seemed to read a message there.
“Te-ten dollars,” he faltered.
Mr. Haskins groaned more dismally than he had groaned because of his bodily hurts.
“Ten dollars,” Poke repeated—firmly this time; for now he read distinct encouragement in Lon’s glance.
Mr. Haskins shook his head, but with no marked vigor.
“It’d be robbin’ the poor, that price!” he objected.
Lon again produced the bills. “One five and another five,” he counted. “That’s right, ain’t it?”
“It’s wuss’n highway robbery, but I—I dunno——” said Mr. Haskins, and drew nearer.
Lon extended the money. “Goin’—goin’——” he began.
“Gone!” cried Mr. Haskins, and snatched the bills. “Done—it’s a trade!”
“And with plenty o’ witnesses,” Lon added emphatically. Then he turned to the trembling and excited Poke.
“The engine’s yours, though I ain’t got a ghost of a notion what you want the junk for.”
Mr. Haskins tittered. “Te he, te he! Mebbe he’s jest takin’ a flyer.”
Then Poke smiled, and the smile was curiously full of meaning.
“You’ve said it for me,” quoth he, very cheerily.