“I’m glad it’s over now, at any rate,” commented Bert. “A needless waste of life like that is a terrible thing.”
“It shore is,” agreed his host, and puffed meditatively at his pipe. At last he knocked the ashes from it and rose to his feet.
“It’s gettin’ late, son,” he said, “an’ I reckon you-all must be might tuckered out after a day on that there fire spoutin’ motorbike o’ yourn. The ole lady’s got a bunk fixed up fer you, I reckon, an’ you can turn in any time you feel like it.”
“I am tired out, for a fact,” acknowledged Bert, “and I don’t care how soon I tumble in.”
“Come along, then,” said Anderson, as his host was named, “come on inside, an’ we’ll put you up.”
So saying, he entered the cabin, followed by Bert.
Mrs. Anderson had fixed a bed for him in a little loft over the main room, reached by a ladder. After bidding his host and hostess good night, Bert climbed the rungs and ten minutes later was sleeping soundly.
When he was awakened by a call from the farmer, he jumped up much refreshed, and, dressing quickly, descended the ladder to the living room, where the entire family was already assembled. After exchanging greetings, he took his place at the table and made a substantial meal from plain but hearty fare.
This over, he bade a cordial farewell to the kind farmer and his wife, who refused pointblank to accept the slightest payment for the hospitality they had extended him. Bert thanked them again and again, and then shook hands and left them, first being told of a short cut that would save him several miles and land him on a good road.
The good old “Blue Streak” was in fine shape, and after a few minor adjustments he started the motor. The whole family had followed him out, and were grouped in an interested semicircle about him. At last he was ready to start, and threw one leg over the saddle.