“No, they won’t dare to speed up on account of the load they have. And traffic is pretty thick.”
They carried the game of follow-my-leader down through the heart of the city, stopped at the Seelbach Hotel for twenty minutes and then turned and headed for the old Dixie Highway. “It’s them, all right,” said the workman joyfully. “Wonder where they are really going?”
With a swift motion Frank swept the brilliant cap from his head, donned a black one and adjusted a pair of large goggles. He slid down in his seat and watched the car ahead.
The miles rolled by.
“Wonder what makes the guy so slow?” remarked Frank presently. “Suppose we should bust a tire?”
“Never anticipate trouble,” said the workman. “It looks to me as though they were pretty busy ahead there. I shouldn’t wonder if they might be changing their general appearance a little, but I don’t suppose we had better draw nearer.”
There was a faint humming in the air and a plane soared high above them. It was very high, but as they watched it, something white fluttered down from it, and Bill gave a sigh of relief as he saw the prearranged signal. “It is Ernest and he has seen our white panel. Now he will look after the car, I suppose, according to agreement but I declare it doesn’t seem fair to have him have all the fun. What are we going to do? Can’t we go on?” he asked.
“No, indeed,” said the workman and a soldier repeated, “No, indeed! An aviator’s luck!”
“We will turn back as soon as we come to a store where drinks are sold, or a gasoline station, or anything of the sort.”
Bill gave a deep sigh.