“Say, Andy Rush, if you’re going to talk as fast as that the first time Chunky speeds the machine, I’m going to get out!” cried Jerry, with a laugh. “There’s excitement enough without you making any more.”
“All right, fellows, I’ll keep quiet,” agreed Andy, who was a small, nervous chap, never still for a moment, and so full of energy that he talked, as Jerry sometimes said, “like a house afire.”
Bob leaned forward and pulled one of the levers. The auto slowed down, as the low-speed gear came into play, and bowled along under a stretch of shady trees.
“Fifteen miles in thirty minutes,” remarked the stout lad, pulling out his watch. “Not so bad for a starter, eh, Ned?”
“The machine certainly can go!” observed Jerry.
“I didn’t have the full-speed lever on, either,” remarked Bob, who was called “Chunky” by his companions, because of his fleshiness. He turned off the gasolene as the auto came under a large chestnut tree, and the four boys stretched out comfortably on the leather-upholstered seats.
There was Bob Baker, a lad of fifteen years, son of Andrew Baker, a rich banker; Ned Slade, sixteen years old, the only son of Aaron Slade, a department store proprietor, and Jerry Hopkins, the son of a widow, Mrs. Julia Hopkins.
These three were faithful chums, seldom apart. With them was a mutual friend, Andy Rush. All the boys lived in the village of Cresville, not far from Boston.
The three first named had, the week before the story opens, come into possession of a fine touring car, which they had won as the first prize of a motor-cycle meet, given by the Cresville Athletic Club, as related in the first volume of this series, entitled “The Motor Boys.”