"Hello, there, boys. I'm the one you're looking for, I guess. My name's
Herrick."
"My name is Bruce Clifford, Mr. Herrick," said the patrol leader, extending his hand, "and these are the life-savers you have been looking for."
"Good, I'll learn your names later, boys, and if I don't, I'll give you names that'll be just as good, won't I, May? Boys, this is my daughter May. Now come along with me to my office on the pier and I'll outline just what my plans are. I want you to go on guard as soon as you can, for the crowd at the beach is getting larger with every train that pulls in. The Internationals start to-morrow, you know. The racing cars are all here. For a week past they have been tearing up and down the beach from sunrise until the bathers begin to turn out for their morning dip. Sort of tuning up for the big events."
"Will we be able to see the races?" asked Gordon eagerly.
"I don't see why not. They start to-morrow and will last for three days," replied Mr. Herrick.
"Won't that be great," exclaimed several as they fell in line behind Mr.
Herrick and accompanied him through the resort toward the pier.
Old Harbor Beach was like all other high-class watering places along the Atlantic Coast, only a great deal larger than the average. At least a dozen tremendous hotels were located on the heights back of the beach. There were the usual number of shore restaurants and candy stores, too, and a board walk that stretched along the entire waterfront. Below this was a great wide beach of pure white sand as firm as a well-paved road, and fairly crowded with bathers. This beach was known throughout the world as an automobile race course, and many a speed record had been made on it.
"So this is the famous Old Harbor Beach race course?" said Jiminy, as he eyed the straightaway.
"That's what it is, son, and if you'll look away down there you'll see a number of low green sheds. Those are the garages where the speed maniacs store their high-powered cars."
"Jiminy!" whispered Gordon, thoroughly awed.