“I hope he pays more attention to the wheel than he did to the ball game,” remarked Ned, with a slow shake of his head. “If he doesn’t he’s likely to have us up a tree, or in the ditch.”
But he made no objection as Jerry took his place at the wheel, and slipped in the switch key of the electric starter. Ned and Bob got in the tonneau, and Jerry, looking back to see that both doors were closed, was about to start off when a voice behind the machine cried:
“Hold on! Wait a minute! I won’t be a second! Give me a lift; will you? I forgot all about it! Terrible important message! Dad’ll be wild if I don’t deliver it! Great game; wasn’t it? Our boys won fine! Here I am! Let her go! Never say die! Whizz her along, Jerry! I’m here! Let her out, do you hear? Move the boat!”
A small youth, very much excited as to manner and words sprang, leaped, scrambled, climbed, hopped, jumped, vaulted and fell into the vacant seat beside Jerry. He sat there, his breath coming in gasps, both from his run and from his outpouring of words.
Jerry, with a quizzical smile, looked down at him; Bob, with half-opened mouth, leaned forward to gaze; and Ned shook his head in a hopeless fashion, murmuring:
“Is it all over, Andy Rush?”
“Is—is what—all over?” demanded the small chap.
“Everything,” answered Ned, throwing his hands in the air. “Your talk—your—your—well, you know what I mean. Is it all over?”