Some of the citizens were mildly astonished to see a great touring car containing five lads whirling through the town.
“Hi, hi! catch on to the joy riders!” yelled a small boy. “Where’d you get it?”
“No time to answer questions, sonny,” screeched Victor. “This is the lightning express, the speediest wagon in the state, with Somers, the slow-speed wizard, at the throttle. Whoop-la!”
Evanston was quickly left behind. Then came a succession of small towns along the lake front. The sky was now almost entirely overcast. Near the horizon rested a mass of clouds of a murky, yellowish hue which seemed to impart to the distant water some of its own threatening aspect.
At Waukegan the boys stopped for lunch.
A curious look came over Victor Collins’ face as Tom, with an air of much importance, sprang into the chauffeur’s seat.
“Jehoshaphat! Get out of that!” he exclaimed. “You’re not going to chauf.”
“Of course I am!” snapped Tom.
“Then it’s my turn next.”
“But you don’t know how.”