“I was asking how the car ran,” put in the stout lad.
“Oh!” exclaimed Jerry, comprehendingly. “Why, she’s going like a sewing machine—just as easy. She sure is some car!”
“Yes, I’m glad we traded in our old one, and got this,” commented Ned. “That self-starter alone is worth the difference. No more breaking our backs cranking up.”
Jerry did not reply to this. After his remark to Bob he had relapsed into silence again—a silence to which Ned called his chum’s attention by a nudge.
“Something sure has gotten into Jerry,” whispered the stout youth.
“That’s right, Chunky,” agreed his companion.
They rode on for some distance farther, Jerry guiding the car skillfully enough, even though his mind did not seem to be on his task.
As he turned up a cross road, that would take them to Blairtown Ned, glancing up suddenly, cried out:
“Look out, Jerry! Where are you steering? You’re heading right for that other car!”
A big machine, coming from the opposite direction, and at high speed, was headed directly for the auto of the motor boys. But it was on the proper side of the highway, whereas Jerry was on the left.