“But, say, Fuzzy!” gasped Mr. Alexander, in amazement, as he stared at the man addressed, “what struck you, when the gravel flew? You ain’t such a prize-winner in our beauty contest, either.”
That made Mr. Fuzzier roar with appreciation of the truth, and in another moment all four men were laughing as though they had just heard the funniest joke ever told.
“If we needed any disguises to-day, to keep those competitors from recognizing us, we found them all right!” exclaimed Mr. Dalken, feeling gently of the awful lump over his eye.
“Had any one told me this yarn—of how four men got swelled heads over nothin’ more’n a bit of gravel in the road, I’d say, ‘come off your perch, Mr. Lawyer!’” laughed Mr. Alexander.
“If I look half as fetching as you do, Dalky,” remarked Mr. Fuzzier, “I’d wear a mask. You’ll frighten away the jack-rabbits, I fear.”
“All right, Fuzzy. Tell the chauffeur to find us four masks—there is little choice between us, so far as looks go!” was Mr. Dalken’s reply.
“If you gentlemen expeck to get to that cabin south of Sedona to-day, we’d better hoist this machine out’n the rut, and get along,” advised the driver of the car.
“Hoist! What can we hoist with?” demanded Mr. Dalken.
“Reckon we got’a put our shoulders to the wheel,” grinned the man. “I’ll git under the wust end and jack the car, somewhat.”
Mr. Alexander had recovered sufficiently from the blow of the stone to help with his hardened muscles. After much puffing and straining of the four men, the automobile was pushed and pulled out of the ditch. Then they got in again, and the driver started the engine.