Just then, judging from his erratic swinging from side to side, Ferd needed the whole road, and seeing this, the other lad stood by, ready to guard himself if the cumbersome machine headed his way.
His suspicions as to the intentions of Ferd to run him down seemed well founded, for, pretending to be unable to control the heavy machine, the rider came lunging directly at the standing boy, who would have been struck only for a quick leap to one side, by means of which he avoided a collision.
But alas! the edge of the road was closer than Ferd had calculated on when maliciously endeavoring to give the pedestrian a scare, and as a consequence the motor-cycle plunged down into the ditch.
Ferd managed through a quick effort to leap off his seat just in time to avoid being overwhelmed in the disaster.
He scrambled to his feet choking with both dust and anger.
His beautiful machine lay with its front buried in the water of the ditch, and the sight was so disagreeable that Ferd seemed to lose what little discretion he generally boasted.
"There, see what you've done, Dick Morrison!" he exclaimed, fiercely.
"Well, now, I like that," answered the other, hardly knowing whether to laugh or show indignation; "you try to run me down, and when I step out of the way to avoid an upset you accuse me of having had a hand in the mess. Why did you jump off when by a twist of the handlebars you could have saved the machine? Suppose you blame yourself, not me."
"But you saw that I had lost control, and if you'd only wanted you could have stopped its plunge; but you'd rather see me get into a peck of trouble. How d'ye suppose I'm ever going to lug that heavy thing back up to the road now?" demanded Ferd, spitefully.
"Oh! I don't mind giving you a hand at that. I hate to see such a fine machine lying in the mud like a mired cow," declared Dick, cheerfully.