“That’s just what we are, Chunky, my boy!” exclaimed Jerry. “We were only fooling you.”
They all sat down to a bountifully spread table a little later, and Ned and Jerry were almost sorry for the anguish they had caused their chum, when they saw, by the quantity of ham and eggs he consumed, how really hungry he had been.
Dinner over, the three boys sat about on the hotel piazza for an hour. They were plied with questions as to the working of their machines by about a score of boys and youths who had gathered to see the motors operated, Jerry kindly went into details and entertained the little audience for some time.
“Well, I think we’d better be going,” said Jerry to his chums at length. “It’s two o’clock and we can just about reach Huntsville by night.”
“You’re goin’ t’ git ketched in a storm,” said the hotel keeper.
“Think so?” inquired Jerry.
“I know it.” The man pointed to where a bank of dark clouds were accumulating in the west. “Thunder storm coming as sure as guns is guns.”
“Well, we’ll ride on, and if we have to take to shelter I guess we can find it,” Jerry said. “We don’t mind a little rain. We’re out for practice.”
“Well, good luck to ye,” called the hotel man after the three boys, as they rode down the village street. “Stop in agin when ye’re in this direction.”
For a time it seemed as if the prediction of the storm was not going to be verified. The bank of clouds grew no larger, and the sun still shone. The boys speeded up a bit as they struck a stretch of good road.