“Look out where you’re going!” the chauffeur yelled, his angry voice accentuating the warning of the horn.
Jerry Hopkins seemed to come to life in an instant. His absent-mindedness left him in a flash, and his strong hands turned the steering wheel rapidly.
So suddenly did he shift the direction of his car that it skidded, and, for an instant slid along on two tires. Then, with another quick shift of the wheel, the steersman brought it back on the proper course.
The two machines passed safely, but, so narrow was the space between them, the thickness of one’s hand would have sufficed to fill it.
Then, in a swirl of dust, the other machine passed on, the dirt-cloud serving to hide the indignant glances of the occupants. Jerry brought his car to a stop with a whine of the hastily-applied brakes.
“Say, I didn’t see that fellow coming,” declared Jerry, turning to speak to his chums in the tonneau.
“You didn’t see him!” cried Ned. “Why, he was right in front of you, and on the proper side of the road, too. You were off. Say, what’s the matter with you Jerry, anyhow?”
The tall lad did not answer for a moment. Instead, he slowly got down out of the car, and walked over to a spring that bubbled out of a rock at the side of the road.
“Wait until I get a drink,” he said. “I’m dry.”