“Don’t bother,” Dick said quickly. “They’re very light, and Brad and I can easily carry them. Besides, I’d like to see just where they’ve put the car so that I’ll know where to go if I want to take her out.”
“Well, have your own way,” smiled the other. “The garage is around at the back. Follow the drive and you can’t miss it.”
Leaving Tucker and Bigelow with their host, the two chums followed the latter’s directions and had no difficulty in locating the automobile sheds.
Merriwell was glad of the opportunity, for he wanted very much to have a look at Stovebridge’s car. In fact, that was his principal reason for coming out instead of having the bags sent for.
There were a dozen machines in the sheds, of all sizes and makes, but only two runabouts. One was a small electric, and the other—standing in the compartment next to Dick’s car, the Wizard—was a new, high-power roadster, painted a dark red.
“That’s the one, I reckon,” he said aloud, as they surveyed it.
The Texan’s eyes crinkled.
“I opine it is, pard, if you say so,” he grinned. “Might a thick, onery cow-puncher ask, what one?”
“Stovebridge’s car,” Merriwell explained briefly.
The Westerner gave a low whistle.