Through the village of Dexter’s Corners they dashed, around a corner, and then straight for the bridge spanning Swift River. A farm wagon was making for the bridge from the opposite shore, and there was not room for both vehicles to pass on the bridge.
“Better slow up and wait, Dick!” cautioned Sam, but instead, Dick turned on more power, and away they sailed over the bridge like the wind, and past the farm wagon.
“Phew! that’s going some!” cried Fred. “I don’t know as I would have nerve to run a car like that!”
“Oh, Dick’s a dandy driver,” answered Tom, enthusiastically.
Arriving at the station, they went to the telegraph office and asked for messages, and found none. Then word was sent to Anderson Rover at Cedarville. After that the automobile was turned over to Frank Rand, who agreed to take it back to Valley Brook farm that afternoon.
“Off ag’in, eh?” said Ricks, when they bought their tickets. “I don’t see why you boys can’t settle down fer awhile.”
“Smoking any cigars now, Mr. Ricks.” asked Tom, dryly.
“If I am, ’tain’t none o’ your business!” snapped the old station agent.
“I just heard of a new cure for smoker’s jim-jams,” went on the fun-loving youth. “You take a squash and boil it in lard, and then cut it into thin slices, and——”
“I don’t want none o’ your cures!” roared Mr. Ricks savagely. “I ain’t got no smoker’s jim-jams, nor nuthin’. I——”