“I’d like to see ’em try it!” blustered the stout lad. “This isn’t our first trip West.”
“No, but they don’t know that,” laughed Jerry. “However, there’s no use crossing a bird in the hand until the well runs dry,” and with this misquoting of proverbs the tall steersman gave his attention to the business before him, which, at that particular moment, consisted in passing a heavily-laden truck at a narrow place in the road.
“Watch your step,” warned Ned.
Jerry nodded his head, but did not answer.
“Better give him a blast, hadn’t you?” suggested Bob. “He’s one of those road hogs, I guess, and there’s a bad dip on the side where we have to pass. Give him a toot.”
Jerry stretched his hand out and pressed the button of the electric horn. Its screeching tone filled the air but the driver of the big auto-truck ahead gave no sign of heeding. His machine chugged on its way.
“He isn’t going to give over,” said Ned in a low voice.
“Guess I’ll have to brush by,” came from the tall lad. “Hold fast everybody!”
With that Jerry pressed down on the accelerator pedal. There was a throbbing burst of speed as the motor took the increased flow of gas. Then Jerry opened the muffler and a sound ensued that was like a small Gatling gun in action. At the same instant, with a great burst of speed, the big car fairly shot past the offending truck, Jerry with steady eyes and hands guiding her neatly. There was, indeed, but barely room to pass, and it was such a close shave that there was but a bare six inches between the left wheels of the boys’ machine and the edge of the road which, at this point fell away in a sharp decline.