“No,” said Dan. “We’ve just taken fifty miles at a good clip and we’ll have to overhaul her again before we go back to-night. Let Chance do his monkey business without any rival.”
But the girls thought that Avery was really a remarkable chauffeur. He did handle Burton Poole’s car with some dexterity; nevertheless, Dan was quite decided in his own mind that the Poole automobile was by no means as good a machine as their own Breton-Melville.
Burton, however, had his car furnished nicely. There was little wonder that the girls preferred to ride in it. They all became tired after a little while, however, and either joined in, or stood to watch, a doubles’ set at tennis. Chance left his car, and joined Mildred Kent beside the tennis court.
Suddenly Jim Stetson began to shout. He was one of the players and had just started service when he dropped ball and racquette and started on a run for the road, yelling:
“Get out of that, Harrington! Drop it!”
At the moment the car began to pop and they all saw it move away from the curb. A slight fellow in a blazer coat, and without a hat, was at the wheel. He was a pasty-faced fellow, thin, unhealthy-looking, and with a pronounced squint in his eyes.
He grinned over his shoulder at Jim, and stuck out his tongue. Meanwhile he put the car up to a good speed and fairly flew away up the drive.
“It’s Harrington M’Kim!” cried Ruth Stetson. “Oh, that boy will do some damage to that car!”
“He’ll wreck it, or break his own neck,” declared Monroe Stevens. “Why did you leave it so it could be started by the first chap that came along, Chance?”
But there was no use in scolding the captain of the Outing Club. Poole’s car was sailing up the drive at a pace which made pursuit afoot a futile game.