“One of the small springs broken!” he announced ruefully.
“Can’t it be fixed? Will we have to get out and walk?” asked Ned.
“It could be repaired if we were near a blacksmith shop,” answered Jerry. “It isn’t a bad break, and I can still go on, but not very fast, and it may get worse, if it isn’t repaired.”
“I don’t see any blacksmith shop around here,” observed Bob. “In fact, it wasn’t far from here that we killed the calf, fellows.”
“Don’t mention it!” begged Jerry. “Well, I guess I’ll take a chance, and go on slowly. We may come to a garage within a few miles, though I don’t remember seeing any on our other trip.”
As they were about to proceed, they saw a farmer driving toward them. He halted to learn the trouble, and to the delight of the boys announced that there was a smithy about a mile farther on, down a side road.
The blacksmith shop was soon reached, and while the proprietor was making the necessary repairs Jerry and his chums sat outside where a number of men were gathered, listening to their talk. Mr. Snodgrass, as has probably been guessed, was looking for bugs.
Quite a political discussion was under way among the loungers about the smithy, when Ned, looking down the village street, saw a figure approaching. There was something vaguely familiar about it. The merchant’s son nudged Jerry.
“Isn’t that our friend Mr. Sackett, of Tewkesbury Township?” he asked in a low voice.