"It isn't me, it's the handbag, Phil," gasped out Roger, who hung partly over the front seat of the touring-car.
"Anybody hurt?" questioned Dunston Porter quickly, as soon as the shock had come to an end.
"I—I—think I am all right, Uncle Dunston," panted Laura. "But dear me! wasn't it awful?"
"I thought I was going to fly right over Dave's head," wailed Jessie, who had come up behind the youth with a great thump. "Oh, Dave, did I hurt you?"
"Knocked a little of the wind out of me, Jessie; that's all," he answered. "But I won't mind that if only you are not hurt."
"Say, that was some stop, believe me!" was Phil's grim comment, as he managed to straighten up and look ahead. "Stuffed mackerel! what did we try to do, Dave—climb a tree?"
"No. We tried to take a running jump and go over it," replied Roger, with a faint attempt at humor.
"Sound the horn, Dave, as loudly as you can!" cried his uncle, quickly. "We must warn the others." And thus admonished, Dave put his finger on the button of the electric horn and held it down for some time. Looking backward, those in the Wadsworth car soon saw the Basswood machine come into sight and then slow down. The heavy clap of thunder was now followed by another fierce downfall of rain, while the sky grew blacker than ever. In the midst of this outburst the second touring-car came slowly forward.
"Did the lightning strike you?" yelled Ben.
"No. But we had a close call of it," answered Mr. Porter. "It hit this tree when we were less than one hundred and fifty feet away. Then the tree came down as you see, and we ploughed right into it."