“And he always avoids broken glass and tacks in the road,” Elinor was saying, when “bang!” went one of the rear tires with a report as loud as a pistol shot.
The “jolly crew” could not restrain their ever-ready laughter at this disconcerting behavior on the part of “The Comet” just at the very moment when their boasts were loudest.
“Oh, well,” said Billie apologetically, “it’s time we had a puncture. We’ve never had one yet. We’ll take him to the garage and have him mended properly.”
“Chocolates, marshmallows, peanut brittle, and other candies, fresh and dee-lishus!” called a voice from behind the motor as they pulled into the garage.
It was Percival Algernon St. Clair, wearing a most engaging smile on his rosy, good-natured face, as he tipped his boyish cap at Nancy in particular in the most approved grown-up fashion.
“Have you any ice cream sodas, Percy-Algy?” demanded Nancy impudently.
“I don’t think the fountain’s dry yet, Nancy, and we’ll have a party, if you say so. The gang is close by. Shall I give the signal?”
“I have no objections,” said Nancy, “if the girls haven’t.”
“Why should we?” answered Billie. “Isn’t pineapple soda water my favorite beverage?”
Percy put two fingers to his lips and gave three whistles, and, as if by magic, Ben Austen, Charlie Clay, and Merry Brown emerged from the shadow of a neighboring doorway.