“But we don’t dare accuse them,” agreed Pete.
“And we’ll lose the game,” went on Armitage dubiously.
Bill never forgot his trip with Miss Morton. She was a daring driver, for a girl, and once or twice took chances that made even the nerve-hardened pitcher wince. But with a merry laugh she sped on, after cutting in ahead of a load of hay, on a narrow bridge.
Once there was a hail from a speed-watching constable but the girl kept on.
“There’s oil on my number, and I never expect to come this way again,” she declared recklessly.
“If only we don’t get a blow-out!” murmured Miss Dunning.
“Don’t you dare suggest such a thing, Hazel!” cried Miss Morton.
She turned on more speed. It lacked five minutes to two, and Bill knew the game would be called on the dot. They were two miles away, and could hardly get there on time, but the pitcher consoled himself with the reflection that at least he could take part after the first inning.
“Are we going to make it?” asked Miss Dunning.
“We’ve got to!” declared Miss Morton, as she swung around in front of a farm wagon, thereby causing the grizzled driver symptoms of heart failure.