It was about nine in the morning when they were ready to start. The early September day was a fair one, though promising more or less heat before noon came and went. Rod led the way, and they soon left the big bustling city on the Scheldt behind them. A splendid road invited an increase of speed, and presently they were booming along right merrily.
How delightfully cheery did the rapid clatter of the exhausts sound to their ears, after having been deprived of this familiar company for days at a stretch, since abandoning their machines at the home of a woman market gardener, who had later on brought them to the city, concealed under a load of produce.
They kept as close together as safety allowed, with Rod as usual in the lead. Well did the other two know they could always depend on him to steer them aright. Rod carried a little map of the country with him. Besides, he had studied it so thoroughly that in most cases he could tell the lay of the land without consulting the chart.
“This is the life!” called Hanky Panky, who brought up the rear, squatted in his saddle something after the manner of a huge toad; for Hanky had a peculiar “style” of his own, entirely original, which he claimed to have as many good points as a horse jockey’s method of riding on the neck of his mount.
“Pity our two poor chums who had to set out for home so early!” added Josh, who was in a sense fairly hugging himself on account of the wonderful possibilities for excitement looming up above the horizon just then.
“Well, their machines went with them,” said Rod over his shoulder, “and they say ‘where ignorance is bliss ’tis a folly to be wise.’ Right now they may be over in England, pitying us for being left behind in the land of the Great War.”
“This is a hunky-dory road, all right!” ventured Hanky Panky shortly afterward. “Why, we seem to be gliding along as smoothly as if on a parlor floor. We could go twice as fast, if we wanted to.”
“No need of that,” said Rod, hearing the remark, which was, however, intended only for Josh; “we’ll pass through Ostend and Dunkirk, reaching Calais in short order. Then, like as not, we’ll have to spend the rest of the day there, and to-night in the bargain.”
“Shucks! what’s the use of all that, Rod?” demanded Josh, for he was fairly wild to get near the firing line again, and witness more of those wonderful sights that had thrilled him to the bone a short time back.
“We’ll have to give an account of ourselves, most likely, and get written permission to go into France,” he was told.