“Hey, you kids,” hailed the red-bearded one, in a deep, rather rough voice, “get us out of this, will you?”
“What’s the trouble?” asked Jack, slowing up. Although he was not best pleased at the other’s sharp mode of address, he felt that it was his duty to do what he could to aid two fellow motorists in distress.
“You can see what the trouble is, can’t you?” exclaimed the black-moustached man; “we’re stalled, stuck, in this infernal clay.”
“Got a rope?” asked Jack; “we’ll try and give you a tow out of it. We’re likely to get stuck ourselves, though.”
“Not much danger of that, with such a car as yours,” responded the red-bearded man, fumbling in the tool box of his car in search of a rope, such as most autos carry nowadays for just such emergencies. He finally found it, and came toward the boys’ car, which Jack had stopped. But the engine was still turning over rather rapidly.
“That’s a powerful motor you have there,” said the stranger, placing one foot on the running board and speaking in a rather patronizing tone, which didn’t much appeal to either of the boys; “what make of car is that?”
“It’s our own invention,” responded Tom quickly, rather too quickly, in fact, for the red-bearded man responded instantly, and with a curious inflection in his tones:
“Oh, is that so? I shouldn’t wonder, now, if you two are the Boy Inventors the papers have printed so much about. And this is the Flying Road Racer, eh? Umph! How does it work?”
“That’s rather a secret for the present,” said Jack, who resented the man’s dictatorial tone and inquisitive manner; “anyhow, if we are going to haul you out of this, we’d better start now before the road gets soaked any more.”
“Oh, all right. No offence meant,” answered the red-bearded man, and immediately busied himself attaching one end of the rope to the rear axle of the boys’ car. Then Jack moved ahead, and the other end of the tow line was made fast to the stalled auto.