“Rabbit potpie nothing!” cried Bob. “Rabbits are out of season, too. Come on, hop in and we’ll go to that restaurant. I’m half starved.”
“Chunky’s usual state,” commented Ned, as he took his place beside his stout chum.
Jerry resumed his position at the wheel, with Andy on the seat beside him, and once more the auto started off. This time the tall lad paid more attention to the steering, and there were no near-accidents.
But, if Jerry was not as absent-minded as he had been, still his thoughts were busy over the offer for the swamp land. And he realized why his mother was so anxious to have the money that might be paid for it. Though Mrs. Hopkins was quite well off, she depended on the income from her investments, and if some of these failed, she would need to have a larger capital in order to get the same return from the interest.
“But I’m going to try to induce her not to sell that land until I find out why those fellows are so anxious to get it,” mused Jerry, as he drove on in the big touring car.
It was dusk when the motor boys and Andy Rush returned to Cresville, after having had supper at the restaurant. Bob’s appetite proved even better than he himself had suspected, and the other boys were not far behind him. Andy Rush, too, in spite of his inability to sit still very long at a time, ate his share.
“And now, fellows, we’ll see if we can solve the mystery of the swamp land!” exclaimed Ned Slade on the Monday morning following, when, with Jerry and Bob, he had taken his place in the staunch motor boat.
“Well, we’ll make a try for it, anyhow,” agreed Jerry.
“Has your mother heard anything more from that plaster concern?” asked Bob.
“Yes, there was a letter from them this morning,” replied the tall lad, “reminding her that this week, Saturday, was the last day they would hold their offer open.”