“Chance has been blowing around that the Greenbaugh Seminary fellows will give him an ovation when he goes through the town. Of course, he’ll want to be clear ahead of most of the crowd, so as to show ’em what a great driver he is. I don’t care how far ahead he is of the other cars, but when he parades down Greenbaugh’s High Street, I want him to be taking the dust of number forty-eight,” concluded Billy with energy.
“My! but you’re right vicious!” chuckled Dan, as they rumbled out upon the river bridge and left City Ford behind them.
Our heroes climbed hills and descended short, sharp runs; they passed through forest and field; the “slow down” signs faced them frequently and Billy chafed as they ran through the hamlets at what he considered a snail’s pace.
At some places crowds had gathered to watch the contestants pass. Then again other automobiles joined in the procession and kept up with some of the entries for miles. These incidents retarded speed, if anything. The road race was much different from the track trials Dan and Billy had seen.
In some small towns there was little order as the automobiles came through so close together. The constables were more interested in seeing that the motorists did not exceed the speed limit than in keeping the streets clear. Reckless boys would run back and forth across the roadway. It was perilous even to travel at the legal rate.
The Speedwells had passed several more cars. At one big, well-lighted roadhouse there were a dozen of the contestants in the race, having put their cars under the sheds for the night. Mr. Briggs’ big Postlethwaite was just being backed into a stall as the Speedwells shot by. Henri waved his hand to Dan and called good luck after them. It was some satisfaction to the boys to know that they had gotten the best of at least twenty of the other cars. They had then won on them from half an hour to two hours in time.
They had only an hour of their own time remaining, however, and the Holly Tree Inn at Farmingdale was still forty miles away. The roads were reported only fair. But comparatively few cars had been over them and they would not be so badly cut up as were many which lay behind.
And within that forty miles the map showed but two hamlets where it would be necessary to slow down. Both were liberal towns—twelve miles an hour was the limit.
The Breton-Melville car was running smoothly. Not an hour before they had oiled up and groomed her nicely. There was a possibility of making the Holly Tree within the time stipulated.
“And if we don’t, we’ll have to stop at Sharpe’s Crossroads to register and stay for the night,” said Billy, nervously. “That’s the ticket, isn’t it, Dan?”