“Oh, yes, one of them new-fangled bicycles that take a steam engine to run ’em. Well, you’ll find it down at the end of the platform,” said Mr. Hitter. “Now, be careful, and don’t blow yourself up. Boys is dreadful careless like,” he muttered, as he went on with his work.
Boxed in a big crate, at the end of the freight platform, the boys found the motor-cycle. It was addressed in big letters to “Jerry Hopkins, Esq.,” and marked “With Care.”
“Shall I unpack it here or get it taken up to the house, crate and all?” asked Jerry of his chums.
“Oh, unpack it here. Then you can ride it home,” said Bob.
“I know about as much how to ride one as I would how to run a locomotive,” objected Jerry. “I’ve studied the catalogs, of course, but I think I’d better start it up at home first.”
“Oh, go ahead, ride it home,” put in Ned. “We can manage to find out how it works, and we can get some gasolene over to the drug store.”
So, rather against his own calmer judgment, Jerry decided to do as his friends wished. He borrowed a hammer from Mr. Hitter and soon the crate was broken apart and the motor-cycle, in all its mechanical beauty, was revealed.
It certainly was a fine machine and had all the latest improvements. There were two cylinders instead of one, insuring great speed; the tires were large, and there was a large reservoir for gasolene. It was of the latest make and not generally on the market as yet.
“Here’s a book that tells all about how to run it,” said Bob, catching sight of a pamphlet of directions.
The boys read the directions over carefully. It seemed simple enough. All there was to do was to put some gasolene in the tank, see that the batteries gave a proper current, start the machine off, turn on the gasolene, switch on the spark and ride off.