"And now, Ned," began Jimmie as they all took seats, "why the 'four-eleven'? Somebody trying to run away with the town?"
"It looks mighty serious!" Ned soberly replied.
"Great Frozen Hot Boxes!" ejaculated Jimmie.
"What's that?" inquired Ned, instantly half rising.
"I've got a new 'by-word,'" Jimmie hastened to explain. "I'm using it only on special occasions, such as getting shot at or some little thing like that, or having a motorcycle put out of business."
"That's fine!" ironically declared Ned. "Now we'll omit the special occasions and it will be all right. Where did you get it?"
"Where Jack got his real hot box!" declared Jimmie.
In answer to Ned's puzzled looks the boys quickly detailed the events of the morning. Their previous experiences had taught them to overlook nothing no matter how trifling it might at first appear.
A big pitcher of lemonade was prepared and passed about, to which the attorney helped the boys do full justice.
"Now," began Jimmie, as the pitcher was emptied and he sat with a huge slice of lemon in each hand, "can't you do something to stop that gang of rowdies out there? They bother us a lot! Only the other day they threw several milk bottles into the road in front of our machines. The broken glass nearly cut our tires to scrap!"