"Oh, they can make a mile in half a minute. The world's record for a mile is twenty-five and one-half seconds," said Gordon, who was more or less of an authority on automobiles among the members of the Quarry Troop.
"Gee Whizz! Say what can they make fifteen miles in? How long will it take 'em to go the full length of the beach?" asked Bruce.
"Well, the world's record for fifteen miles is just ten minutes flat. That's an old record and Dan Dacy says he's going to smash it to smithereens to-day. Hope he does. Say, fellows, what do you say to going down and looking over the garages before breakfast?"
"Fine, let's get some clothes on and we'll start right away," said
Romper.
Dressing was only a matter of a few minutes and presently the troop was on its way down the boardwalk toward the point where the series of green-peaked roofs located the garages of the speed maniacs. Although it was not yet five o'clock in the morning there were scores of people on the board walk all headed in the same direction.
"Say, this is going to be a big day all right," said Ray Martin, as he noted the enthusiasm that prevailed.
"Right-o, just look at the crowd down there at the garages already this morning," said Bruce.
About each of the low houses were grouped dozens of curiosity seekers. The scouts soon joined the throng and began to inspect the quarters of the races. Each garage contained a big sullen looking car about which was grouped half a dozen mechanics. These men were tinkering here, tightening a bolt there, or wiping and polishing the great machines as if they were so many sacred elephants. Mechanical parts, pumps, jacks, boxes of tools, cans of oil, extra tires and wheels, cushions and innumerable odds and ends were scattered about each building and everybody seemed to be keyed up to an extreme nervous pitch. On every side could be heard remarks about the cars and drivers, their records and their chances for winning the various events.
The excitement was infectious and before they realized it the scouts were as thoroughly interested as every one else. They began to talk automobiles to all with whom they came in contact and soon picked up a great deal of information about the notables who were to take part in the races.
"Say, Bruce," said Jiminy Gordon suddenly, "there's Dan Dacy. See him. That big, tall, light-haired fellow down there. I've seen his picture so many times that I almost feel as if know him. Come on, we'll go down and see his machine. That must be his garage—yes, it is. See the sign over the door. Vix-Benson, it says. That's the car he's going to drive."