“Get the number?” the sheriff snapped.
“Bet your socks,” the boy grinned. “Here she is.”
“Good piece of work.” Mr. Howard took the scrap of paper upon which the license number had been hastily scrawled.
“Wrote it down quick so I wouldn’t forget it. Anybody hurt?”
“Thank you, we are all right,” Mrs. Langwell assured him. “Won’t you have a cup of coffee, or something to eat?” The chap was about Harvey’s age.
“Thanks just the same. I’ll ooze along. You people will want to get back to bed. If you care to bump-the-bumps with me, sheriff, I’ll give you a lift on this cycle.”
“Thanks. I’ll get home as fast as I can and start things humming on the telephone. Spread this number over the country through the broadcasting stations and find out who owns that car.”
“Ought not to be hard finding the would-be thieves,” the boy grinned.
“Looks as if it might be easy, thanks to your good sense.”
“Say it with flowers,” the lad chuckled. “Come along. As long as I live I may never get another chance to have a sheriff in the saddle behind me. How I wish a cop would try to stop me on this trip.”