At any rate he decided to try.
As the auto reached the point at which the road widened, the boy swung the speeding machine over and whizzed by the wagon so closely that wisps of hay clung to the auto’s side.
But the lead horses—there were four of them—blocked access to the bridge.
The next minute there was a shout of alarm from the boys, as they saw that Frank meant to dash across the stream. The auto struck the bank, seemed to bound into the air, and then crashed down into the water with a force that threw a cloud of spray high above it and thoroughly drenched its occupants.
But to Frank’s great joy the machine did not overturn, nor did it seem damaged, as it kept right on through the water, which, luckily, was not deep, and dashed up the other bank. Here Frank managed to get it under control—as the opposite side of the creek was a steep grade—and the car came to a stop with a grunt and a groan.
“Gee whilikens, I thought you was all killed for sure,” exclaimed the badly frightened countryman, as he drove up to the group of boys, who were out of their car by this time and busily examining the extent of the accident to the emergency brake.
“It wasn’t your fault we weren’t,” blurted out the indignant Billy. “You are a fine driver to go to sleep like that.”
“Don’t you sass me, young feller,” roared the countryman; “what business have you got to be flying around the roads in that choo-choo cart and scaring folks out of their wits?”
“Just as much as you have to be occupying the whole road and going to sleep like that,” retorted Billy.
“I’ve a good mind to give you a licking, young feller,” said the man, starting to climb down from his wagon. But he thought better of it, as he saw the four determined looking boys standing there in the moonlight.