“Oh, she isn’t as temperamental as all that,” laughed Bob. He climbed to the seat, turned on the ignition and pressed the self-starter pedal. There was a sort of groaning hum.
“I thought so! Come on, Ned, we’ll walk!” laughed Harry.
But a moment later the engine began to turn over with a steady throb, hum and roar that told of plenty of power, each of the four cylinders firing evenly and regularly.
“Not so bad!” announced Ned, listening with a critical ear.
“Yes, I’ve got her pretty well tuned up,” admitted Bob with pardonable pride. “I guess she’ll take me there and back.”
“Well, we’ll take a chance,” said Harry, and soon the three chums were rattling down the road. Rattling is the proper word, for though the flivver certainly moved, she also rattled, as do most of her kind. But rattling is no crime.
“Say, there’s going to be a big crowd,” observed Bob as he slowed up at the ball park to let his chums jump off. “Wish I could see the game!”
“Same here,” remarked Harry. “Yes, there’s going to be a mob all right!”
Though it would be nearly an hour before the game started, already throngs were congregating at the park. For the contest was an important one.
There had long been a rivalry between the Boys’ Athletic Club, to which Bob, Ned and Harry belonged, and the team from Midvale, a town about ten miles from Cliffside where Bob Dexter lived. Each year a series of games took place, and up to date the championship had wavered between the two.