“A yellow car?”
“No-‘twarn’t yeller, come to think of it. I guess, anyhow, it was a delivery truck, if I remember rightly.”
Frank strove to conceal his impatience. “Please, did any of you-?”
“Was it a brand-new car, real shiny?” asked the fourth member of the group.
“No, it was an old car, but it was painted bright yellow,” Frank explained.
“My nephew had one of them things,” the farmer remarked. “Never thought they was safe, myself.”
“I don’t agree with you,” still another man spoke up. “All boys like cars and you might as well let ‘em have one they can work on themselves.”
“You’re all wrong!” the deaf man interrupted. “Let the boys work on the farm truck. That way they won’t get into mischief!” He gave a cackling sort of laugh. “Well, son, I guess we ain’t been much help to you. Hope you find the critter that stole your hot rod.”
“Thanks,” said Frank, and joined the other boys. “No luck. Let’s go!”
As they approached Bayport, the trio saw a girl walking along the road ahead of them. When the cyclists drew nearer, Frank’s face lighted up, for he had recognized Callie Shaw, who was in his class at Bayport High. Frank often dated Callie and liked her better than any girl he knew.