“I’ll take the middle road,” thought Ned. “It’s trusting to chance, but it’s all I can do.”
He had ridden perhaps four miles when he met a farmer driving a bony horse attached to a dilapidated wagon. Poor, thin and old as the horse was it seemed frightened at the sight of the machine, and inclined to rear on its hind legs and bolt.
“Is this the road to Boston?” asked Ned, knowing he had little time to waste in talk, however pleasant it might be.
“Wa’al ye kin git to it this way, but it’ll take ye a long time. Ye’re going in a opposite direction. Ye’d oughter taken the left hand road back there at the forks.”
“Thanks,” said Ned, briefly, turning his machine in readiness to go back and take the right road.
“Hold on! Maybe I can make some kind of a trade with ye for that threshing machine ye got!” called the old man, but Ned, with a friendly wave of his hand, started back to regain the right road.
He resolved to be more careful next time in taking roads where there was more than one. So, when he again reached places where the highways diverged he waited until some one came along, or he went back to the last house he had passed, and inquired.
He rode on for two hours longer. It was getting a little dusky now because of the clouds, and Ned began to fear he was in for a storm. He wished he was at his destination, for, if worst came to worst, he could stay in Boston all night, and start back in the morning. But he soon saw evidences that he was nearing some large city. Houses became more frequent, and every now and then he would pass through some settlement or good sized suburb. Then, off in the distance, he descried the Hub City.
“There’s Boston!” he cried. “Now for an automobile or motor store.”