But the others were too much amazed to make an attempt to answer the question.
“But why, I wonder,” demanded Lily, “should they always insist upon passing us at such a tremendous rate of speed?”
“I know!” exclaimed Alice. “They have to get to the next telegraph office to send Aunt Emeline her report on our progress.”
“Well, I’m sorry to spoil your story, Alice,” said Marjorie; “but I’m afraid that I don’t believe a word of it. These young men are probably bootleggers—”
“Then we’d better get the boys on their trail, as we did last summer!”
“Oh, girls, let’s forget them,” said Ethel. “As long as everything goes well, what do we care about the other travellers along the road? They’re not hurting us!”
“No, nothing’s going to hurt us!” boasted Marjorie, but hardly were the words out of her mouth than the first unmistakable signal of distress appeared. A dull, ominous knocking in the rear of the car, sounded distinct above the noise of their conversation, and the whir of the machinery. Ethel stopped the automobile immediately, and the girls looked at each other in dismay.
“It’s a puncture, I’m sure!” pronounced Lily. “That old familiar sound—”
“But how could it be with such lovely new tires?” demanded Alice, resentfully.
No one answered her question, for a moment while the girls all jumped out of the car.