As Neale slowed down for a railroad crossing, taking it easily and carefully, although there was no train near and the gates were up, a boy yelled:
“Hi, there! Whip behind! Whip behind, mister!”
“Now! how foolish that is,” gasped Agnes, as they jolted a little going over the rails. “What do you suppose that little imp meant?”
Neale only grunted. He was thinking, and although he increased the speed of the car a little, it was only for a short distance. Then he shut her down suddenly—and stopped.
“What’s the matter?” demanded Agnes, curiously.
“Where are you going, Neale?” asked Ruth, as the boy crept out from behind the wheel, stepped over Agnes’ feet and the dog, and leaped out into the road.
“I want to see something,” muttered Neale. He went to the rear of the car. Then he uttered a shout:
“Come and look at this, will you? What do you suppose that kid has done?”
“What kid?” asked Agnes, following him nimbly out of the car. Tom Jonah bounded out, too, glad, probably, to stretch his cramped limbs.
“Sammy Pinkney!” said Neale, pushing back his dust mask and staring.