A number of blocks were passed, each instant bringing him nearer to the wharf where the “Fearless” had been moored.
“Bet, by this time, the yacht is back,” he murmured, hopefully. “I’ll never let on how the boys had me going, both in and out of the car.”
The river soon swept into view. Tom, peering eagerly ahead, felt his spirits sink again. A number of boats dotted the gray, gloomy-looking surface, but the motor yacht “Fearless” was not among the number.
“Well, well! I might have known I was right.”
The car came to a full stop. Tom sat for many minutes absorbed in deep reflection. Then a grim smile played across his features.
“I’ll show ’em how well I can play the game,” he cried once more to the empty air. His hand gripped the horn bulb. A resounding blast instantly followed. “There goes the signal for the third inning. I’ll make a home run to Milwaukee, and bob up smiling.”
CHAPTER IX
SPEEDING
“I certainly hope we don’t meet any more mean, tricky little kids,” soliloquized Tom, as the touring car rushed steadily ahead, each instant leaving the city of Kenosha further and further behind. “By George—the nerve of him! Well—the fellows will find out that when it comes to matching wits they haven’t much on me.”
Tom Clifton’s confidence had returned; the strange feeling of loneliness which at first had persisted in hanging over him, as well as the half-defined fear of something happening to the motor were rapidly being dispelled. The six cylinders, operating with perfect precision, sent off on the breeze their steady vibrating roar. Tom’s cheek was flushed with the excitement and novelty of his position. He seemed to have grown into man’s estate at a bound.
“I guess when I meet the yacht at Milwaukee I’ll have the laugh on the whole bunch,” he thought, with a cheerful grin.