The great barn was filled with a brown dusk in which Neale O’Neil could see nothing at first. But by stepping within and leaving the door open, he was able to obtain some idea of what was on the barn floor. On either side were the mows, the hay stacked in them down to the ground. The loosely boarded loft over the runway of the barn had also been filled, he supposed. The sweet, dusty odor of the cured grasses was almost overpowering at first. Dim outlines of a few old agricultural tools were to be seen in the gloom. These were shoved back out of the way so as to clear the middle of the course.
Neale, still curious, fumbled at the bar which held closed the two-leaved door, and finally opened this. The door swung open slowly and the strong July sunlight rushed in. Millions of motes danced in the sunshine that spread across the barn floor. Now all was revealed.
“Can you find it?” cried Agnes from the seat of the automobile.
Neale had to wag his head in negation. There was nothing here that looked like a motor car. Back, at the rear of the barn floor, the hay had overflowed the mows and loft, and was heaped in a fragrant pile on the barn floor to the height of the floor of the loft.
“One sure thing, they’ve got an abundant hay crop stored away,” thought Neale O’Neil. “Uncle Bill Sorber’s elephants would find plenty of fodder here.”
He laughed, barring the big doors again securely. As he came out of the barn he glanced sharply around, but saw nobody save his own friends in the motor car.
Naturally his examination of the other farm buildings was hasty; but he neglected to look into no shed large enough to have housed the runabout of which he was so eagerly in search. He came back to the Corner House automobile with the assurance that there was no car but their own at the Higgins farm, and made the statement boldly.
“Well, but,” pouted Agnes, shaking her head at him, “I’d feel much more satisfied if you had let me look.”
“Me, too,” grumbled Sammy. “I bet I could see into smaller places than you could, Neale O’Neil.”
Neale just grinned at them. “This isn’t a flivver we are looking for, I’d have you know. The Maybrouke is some car, believe me! You folks talk like the funny-man who went into the flivver factory to look around; and when he came out he kept scratching himself—said he was sure he had got one of the things on him!”