“She’s running smoothly,” remarked the irrepressible Patsy, as the car glided down the slight incline of the main street of Paron. “After all the racket she’s had, up in the mountains and along the road before that, we could not blame her if she did jolt a little.”
“She’s got to go smoothly,” said Chick. “Because we have to be in Penza before noon, if we hobble into the city on rims, instead of rubber.”
Nick Carter took no part in this chat. He was listening to the steady purring of the engine, and it was music to his ears that he did not care to disturb.
They had to go rather carefully down this narrow street, for it was very crooked, and some of the nearly naked children of the place had the same inclination to get in front of the car that automobilists meet with everywhere.
After about a quarter of a mile of this sort of work, they turned into the wider highroad, that gave them an opportunity to go faster. They were fairly on their way toward Penza now.
It was at this instant that Phillips leaned forward to speak to the detective, in his passionless tones.
“You need not trouble about traffic regulations, sir,” he said. “There are no speed limits in Carita, nor in Joyalita, either.”
“That’s good to know,” smiled Nick.
He let out the engine, and the car responded instantly. They were soon flying along at fifty miles an hour, which became sixty when they struck a down grade.
The detective felt the keen enjoyment which comes to the enthusiastic motorist when he has a big, flexible engine under his control, and a long, wide roadway before him.