“Better than being full of them,” remarked the fat boy, dreamily gazing up into the black shadows of the wagon shed roof.
“Say, Paul,” asked Rob interestedly, “would you mind telling me what is a motor-scooter. It looks fine,” he added encouragingly.
“A motor-scooter,” exclaimed Paul, “is a sled driven by an auto engine and propelled by an aeroplane propeller over the frozen surface.”
“That sounds fine,” chuckled Merritt; “bet you cribbed it out of a book.”
Paul Perkins, paying no attention, went on to explain to Rob the points of the strange craft. He had constructed it ingeniously from parts of an old, broken-down auto left behind by a summer resident. The engine part of the affair rested on a framework of two-by-four timbers, and to the flywheel of the motor had been fitted a pulley connected with a shaft mounted above it, on one end of which was affixed a six-foot aeroplane propeller.
Behind the engine came a seat for the driver, and another beside it for a passenger. Gasoline was carried in a ten-gallon tank placed forward of, and above the motor, while the cooling was effected by means of a fan geared to the forward part of the machinery. Below the framework came the runners on which the odd craft was expected to glide over the ice. These were formed of old wagon timbers, along which strips of iron, constructed from barrel binders, had been nailed.
Such was Paul Perkins’ wonderful motor-scooter. Rob, after an inspection of the clever way in which it was put together, could not help admiring the ingenuity of the young constructor. He knew that Paul was not a rich boy, and that it must have cost him a lot of time and labor to carry out his idea without funds to buy expensive tools or appliances.
“Merritt’s father let me use the forge at night,” explained Paul, “and in that way Merritt came to be the first to know about it. I told him during last summer.”
“And he kept your secret, too,” laughed Rob. “But why didn’t you tell any one else?”
“I was afraid that it mightn’t work.”