"So it is," agreed Bert. "Shall we make a sprint and pass 'em?"
"Oh, there's time enough yet," said George. "Don't let's rush things."
They accepted this easy way out of it, and, as a matter of fact, none of them cared very much about passing Sam and Nick. They jogged down the slope, to strike a level stretch, and, by this time, Sam and his companion were out of sight beyond a turn in the road.
"There's Aldenhurst!" exclaimed Tom at length, as they came in view of a small but pretty village.
"And if there isn't a soda water stand in it I'm going to make a complaint to the police!" gasped Bert. "I'm as dry as a fish."
"Don't fill up on trash," advised Tom. "The rules said that was bad to do;" for a few simple directions as to the best way of making the run had been circulated by Coach Jackson.
"Well, I'm going to swab out with seltzer, anyhow," declared Jack, "rules or no rules."
"Oh, I guess that won't hurt," admitted Tom, and a little later they had lined up before a crossroads grocery, in front of which was the magical sign: "Ice Cold Soda!"
"Ginger ale! Birch beer! Sasp'rilla! Cream sody!" rattled off the snub-nosed and freckle-faced lad behind the counter, when our four friends filed in and asked for some cool drink. "That's all I've got."
"Any seltzer?" asked Tom, who knew the risk of taking into an over-heated system the artificially flavored and colored concoctions that pass current as summer drinks.