“He certainly was,” declared Phil. “When we scraped the buggy his face got as white as chalk, and he almost dropped the lines.”
“He’ll hate all of us worse than ever for this,” was Dave’s comment.
“I am not afraid of him,” answered the uncle.
On and on sped the big touring car, and soon the stirring incident on the road was, for the time being, forgotten. Crumville had been left far behind, and now they passed through one pretty village after another. On the broad, level stretches Dunston Porter allowed the boys to “spell” him at the wheel, for each knew how to run an automobile.
“Twenty miles more to Ryeport!” cried Dave, as they came to a crossroads and read a signboard.
“And it’s just half-past five,” added the senator’s son, consulting his watch. “We’ll get there in plenty of time to wash up and have a fine dinner.”
“And, say, maybe we won’t do a thing to that table!” murmured Phil, smacking his lips.
“Oh, you boys are always hungry,” was Jessie’s comment. 25
“Well, you know, we’ve got to grow,” answered Phil, with a grin.
“I think I’ll enjoy eating after such a long ride,” said Laura. “The fresh air certainly does give one an appetite.”