By the side of a sycamore, whose spreading foliage entirely hid the moon from view, George slackened speed.
“Can go some, eh?” said the boy, breathlessly.
“You bet,” answered Aleck, a trifle bewildered. “Gee whiz! Just like being in a cup race.”
“And it isn’t anything to what it can do.”
“Perfectly stunning, anyway—dandy; but if we went a bit slower, we’d see the scenery better,” said Aleck, ingeniously.
“That’s so,” admitted George. “Don’t I wish I could catch a glimpse of Pierre’s face when he finds the machine gone—ha, ha! I can’t get over it. If Uncle Dan had been along, I wouldn’t have done it—but——” and George’s teeth shut together with a snap.
The woods were soon passed, and a little later, lights gleaming ahead and a soft, hazy patch in the sky indicated that they were approaching a town.
“Must be Newburgh,” remarked George. “And say, this is such jolly good fun, I have an idea.”
“What is it?”
“Stop over night in the town, and early to-morrow start for Poughkeepsie. Fred and the Ramblers will tell the boys we’re all right, eh?”