As soon as they were outside of the city limits, Spud turned on the gasolene and advanced the spark, until the touring car was making forty and then forty-five miles per hour. On they tore, through Westboro and other places, and then on towards Wellesley.
“Look out, here, that you don’t run down any college girls!” warned Dick, as they came in sight of Wellesley College.
“Oh, I wouldn’t run down any girls for the world!” answered Spud, as he slowed down a bit. Soon the main street of Wellesley was left behind and on they sped for Newton and the Hub.
“Hi! hi!” came a sudden call from the roadway, and a policeman appeared, waving his hand frantically.
“Sorry, but we can’t stop to talk!” flung back Spud, and in a minute the officer of the law became a mere speck in the distance. He had not gotten their number, so could do nothing.
They were just entering Boston proper when a loud report came from one of the rear tires. The car swerved to one side, and Spud had all he could do to keep it from going into a hitching post. Then he shut off the power.
“A blow-out!” announced Tom, as he leaped to the ground.
“That ends running for the present,” said Sam.
“So it does,” agreed Spud, mournfully.