This done the men got into their car, the red-bearded man taking the wheel.
“Now, then!” he shouted, as he turned on his power.
Jack did the same, and after a minute of indecision the Flying Road Racer began to move ahead, dragging the yellow car after it. In a few minutes both autos were safely through the heavy, sticky clay, and on the hard road beyond.
“Thanks,” said the red-bearded autoist, as the yellow car gained solid ground, “and now you can do us another favor if you don’t mind. Are we on the right road to Pokeville?”
Jack nodded.
“Straight ahead till you come to a place called Smith’s Corners,” he said; “you cross a bridge beyond that and then turn to the right.”
“Know anybody in Pokeville?” asked the black-moustached man; “ever hear of a Mr. Pythias Peregrine?”
“The inventor?” inquired Jack:
“That’s our man—I mean I’ve often heard of him,” said the red-bearded one; “I reckon now he’s got quite a place there. Lots of servants and all that?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” rejoined Jack, wondering what interest the two men could have in the eccentric inventor.