"And if no one has disturbed them, the chances are the rocks are there yet," said Phil Way. "I mean that, although the heaving of the ground, as it froze and thawed winter after winter, would probably throw the pile down, the three different stones would still be close together for years upon years."
"And I'll be standing here for years upon years without starting this engine if you don't give me a spark! Almost breaking myself in two, and you sit there threshing over that old stone pile again! Did you think I was working this crank handle just for exercise?" These remarks, both earnest and emphatic, came from a young gentleman who stood at the front of a large touring car, the forward seats of which vehicle were occupied by the two whose words have been earlier noted. "Or did you think I was trying an experiment in perpetual motion?" he added, with equal sarcasm.
Mr. Billy Worth, at the steering wheel, laughed good-naturedly. "I solemnly beg your pardon, Mac," he said. "I was thinking of those three stones. Now you're all right!" So saying, he moved the quadrant to the point at which there was a spark advanced to set the automobile's engine chugging when his friend with the crank handle had again given it an initial motion.
"Was pretty sure Dave would make a discovery if he worked hard enough," piped a shrill voice tantalizingly. "I noticed that the spark wasn't on. Meant to mention it after while, but really didn't like to interrupt the conversation!"
These remarks, accompanied by a very self-complacent grin, proceeded from a young gentleman whose half-recumbent position in the tonneau was possibly more comfortable than dignified. Indeed, comfort rather than dignity was plainly his preference as no doubt it often is with persons somewhat less than fifteen years of age.
"Meant to mention it, did you?" came with marked emphasis from the one addressed as Dave, slamming the tonneau door behind him, as the machine moved out of its quarters—a tidy green and yellow building nestling beneath some old elms. "Meant to mention it, eh?" and putting hands suddenly upon the youthful humorist's shoulders, he shook him pretty vigorously.
The latter took his punishment with utmost good nature, saying only, "No fault of mine! If you fellows don't know how to start the car, let me know and I'll teach you. Gee whiz!"
With all its irony, this speech was allowed to pass unnoticed for now the automobile glided with a gentle bounce over the sidewalk and out of the cinder drive of Dr. Way's residence into the street. All four passengers settled themselves in their seats as if for a rapid ride. Their car ran beautifully and in scarcely more time than is required to state the fact its glistening wheels and body, its shining wind shield, lamps and horn had disappeared at the park gate far down the avenue.
Had you happened to be in that well-known city of the Middle West, Lannington, on this early day of June in the year 190—, and had you noticed this particular automobile as, guided by well-trained hands, it swept with a flourish around the curve and in through the park entrance, quite possibly you would have wished to make inquiry concerning the car and its occupants. There was something of quiet distinction about the latter and about the machine and the way it was handled.
Inquiry from any person interested in boys or motoring or both—and who is not?—would have been, indeed, entirely natural. Nor would the veriest stranger have experienced difficulty in obtaining information. While in no sense were they especially prominent because of wealth, exalted social position or otherwise, the Auto Boys, as the four were called, were at least well known.