“But don’t go so fast we can’t get a look at the scenery,” remarked Aleck, who seemed to have developed a wonderful fondness for nature during the last few hours.
George looked at him quizzically, but made no reply, and, within a short time, the red touring car was flying swiftly through a rather flat, open country dotted with farms.
The sky was dark and lowering; rain threatened to fall at any instant, and, as the morning progressed, a breeze sprang up and the ominous look of nature increased.
“We’re going to catch it,” grumbled George.
“In for a ducking, sure enough,” said Aleck. “It’s too bad.”
A few miles from Newburgh, a fine, steady drizzle set in and blew in their faces, and not being provided with goggles, the boys found it very unpleasant.
Now and then, they passed a village, and occasionally a farmer’s wagon rattled slowly by.
“This is one of the times when automobiling is pretty dull sport,” sighed George. “I wish now we were in the nice, comfortable cabin of the ‘Gray Gull.’”
The drizzle gradually increased to a steady rain. All nature was wet, and wore a dismal aspect.
As the rain beat relentlessly upon them, the boys’ spirits fell, and they lapsed into silence, while the red touring car rolled off mile after mile, passing farmhouses and small villages, where the ever-present small dog rushed out to bark and snarl and risk his life in front of the gliding monster.