“Then, they will have to put up somewhere before they get to Wayside,” remarked Ed. “That thunder is not far away.”
As he said this a blinding flash of lightning confirmed the statement.
“I wonder if that chauffeur Mr. Robinson hired, knows any place to put up at?” asked Jack, his voice showing some anxiety.
“Well, there doesn’t happen to be any place on this road,” replied Ed. “I came along here last week, and the only thing like a hotel I could find, was an old roadhouse over on a back lane.”
“My, but that’s sharp lightning!” exclaimed Walter. “Guess I had better get ahead, Jack. It’s safer now.”
For a mile or so the runabouts went along, “between the flashes,” as Ed put it. Then the rain came, pelting and with a tempestuous wind.
“Where’s the turn, Ed?” asked Jack. “We’d better hurry on and overtake the girls now. I don’t feel like risking it in this downpour. That fellow from the garage may not know more than he has to, and I promised Mr. Robinson I’d sort of look after the girls.”
“Listen!” exclaimed Walter. “I don’t hear the cars, do you?”
Both runabouts slowed up, and their occupants did not speak for some seconds.
“But where could they have gone to?” questioned Jack, as their strained ears failed to catch the familiar sound of a machine that had been running on ahead.