“What’s his name?” asked Ed.
“Bindle or something like that,” was Jack’s answer.
Ed gave Walter a tug at the sleeve. “Don’t say anything to Jack,” he said, quietly, “but that’s the very fellow who drove the Wakleys when they went over into the ditch.”
The shrill whistle of a train startled them.
“Any other danger likely to crop up?” asked Jack. “This will surely give the girls all the experience they want, I’m afraid!”
But a few more miles and they must reach the inn.
If only they would find the party there safe and sound!
None of the boys was what might be called nervous, but when it came to possible danger for the motor girls—Jack’s sister, his friends and his chum’s friends—somehow a fear seized each of the three young men; a fear to which they had thought themselves almost immune.
“There’s the lights from the Wayside,” announced Jack, a little later, and then they turned their cars into the broad, private roadway.
Jack was first to reach the hotel office, but Ed and Walter were almost at his heels.