The scouts followed Jiminy and Bruce and soon found themselves part of a very large crowd gathered about the famous driver's headquarters. Dacy was the favorite American in the race and since he was to operate one of the best known American cars everybody was enthusiastic to see him carry off the honors of the event in which he was entered. He was standing by the door of his garage watching his attendants tinker with his machine, when the scouts came up. The lads pushed their way through the crowd to reach the rope railing about the entrance to the garage, and when the tall racer saw them, he smiled and waved his hand.
"How are you, Scouts?" he said good-naturedly. Then without waiting for an answer he came over to the rope.
"Where are you fellows from?" he demanded.
"Woodbridge, Vermont, sir," said Bruce.
"Woodbridge, Vermont? Well, you came a long way to see the races, didn't you?" he said, a boyish smile playing about the corners of his mouth.
"Well, not exactly. You see we are here on business. That is, we've been hired as life guards at Old Harbor. We're going to patrol the beach for the rest of the Summer.
"Oh-ho, so you are the chaps Mr. Herrick was telling me about—have motorcycles and all that sort of rigging, eh? Say, boys, that's a great scheme. I saw the original motor cycle life guards work out in California last year, and they're great, too. Hope you have luck." Then after shaking hands with Bruce and Jiminy and two or three other scouts, he turned and entered the garage, for one of his mechanics had called him.
And although Dan Dacy did not realize it, this spirit of democracy had won him ten thoroughly capable rooters, for the scouts were more than pleased with his friendship.
"Say isn't he a corking fine chap," exclaimed Bruce.
"I should say he was; a regular pippin' I'd call him," said Jiminy stoutly. And he looked at his companions as if he dared any one of them to deny it.