The car the boys now owned was not the one they had had originally. It was a more powerful machine, though so interested had our friends been in airship matters of late, that they had not given their auto much use.
That afternoon saw the three chums speeding down a quiet highway that led out of Cresville. The auto ran well, but they discovered a few defects and arranged to have them remedied at a garage.
“Then we’ll start for Durham the first thing to-morrow, fellows!” cried Bob enthusiastically. “Say, it’s fun to be doing something again. It’s like old times!”
“It sure is,” agreed Jerry. “Can’t you put on a little more speed, Ned?” For the merchant’s son was at the wheel. “Cut out the muffler, and use the accelerator pedal more. Make believe we’re after Noddy Nixon, and that he’s getting away from us. We may need speed if we have to race after Mr. Jackson.”
They were ascending a hill, and Ned had turned on all the power he dared use, when, as he swung around a bend, a small man suddenly darted out right in front of the machine.
“Look out!” yelled Jerry, leaning forward and grasping the lap robe rail in front of him.
“Jam on the brakes! Toot your horn!” cried Bob.
Ned did not answer. He had instinctively done three things, blown the horn, jammed on the foot and emergency hand brake, and had turned to one side. He also gave a loud yell.
But the man who had so suddenly brought about this commotion, paid not the least attention to the trouble he had caused. With a small net on the end of a long pole, extended in front of him, he was chasing a brilliant little red butterfly, which was flitting along, all unconscious of the danger so close to him.