“Great guns, boy, take it a little easier, can’t you?” he pleaded in gasps.
Bob clutched the wheel more tightly as a hole in the road almost twisted it from his grasp.
“Slow up and we’ll lose ’em,” he said.
The flyer groaned.
“Expect that’s right,” he managed to say between gasps. “Ouch. Have a heart. How are they getting away with this pace? That’s what I’d like to know.”
“Balloon tires on that baby,” said Bob, “and snubbers. They’re riding in a Pullman and—”
“And we’re in a freight car,” groaned the flyer.
“Don’t find fault with the gift horse,” laughed Bob, narrowly avoiding a particularly atrocious hole with the front wheels of his chariot of joy only to flop into it with the rear wheels.
Captain Cornell almost bounced out of the car.
“Have a heart, Bob,” he begged.