The Speedwell Boys and Their Racing Auto: or, A Run for the Golden Cup

CHAPTER XXI
THE FIRST TEN HOURS

This road race was much different from the usual test of speed on the open highway. There were no guards lines, or men with flags at cross roads to warn the unwary drivers of horses, or pedestrians. The cars in this endurance run had to take all the chances, and suffer the delays usual to an automobile run in the suburban districts.

The Speedwells in their forty-eight were less than five miles out of Compton when they passed forty-seven. On the edge of Pachusett, half a mile farther on, they found forty-six in the ditch! A big load of hay was overturned across the road, and the hay wagon had lost a wheel.

How this wreck had occurred the Speedwells did not stop to ask. There was a crowd of a couple of hundred persons around the scene of the wreck, and it was plain that neither the automobilists nor the farmers needed any help.

There had been frost enough the night before to make the fields hard, and this was a cloudy day. Dan made up his mind instantly to go around the obstruction. He and Billy got out and removed a section of the roadside fence and steered their drab car out into a turnip field.

Number forty-nine was then in view; but the Speedwells got away quickly and ran through Pachusett as fast as they dared. Two stern-looking constables, with big tin stars on the breasts of their coats, held their Waterbury watches on number forty-eight as it sung along Main Street; but they evidently could not figure out just how fast the boys were going.

It had not rained for some time, and the roads were very dusty in places. Where the roadway was lightly built the autos ahead of the Speedwells had already cut deeply into the surface. It was soon hard traveling, and the dust and sand sifted over them, and over the car, until they looked like millers.

“This is why the faster we get ahead this first day, and the more cars we put behind us, the better off we will be for the rest of the run,” said Dan.

“I guess so! Lettie Parker hit it right the day we went to Karnac Lake. The best place in a run of this kind is right up ahead,” agreed Billy.

According to the road map there was a splendid piece of macadamized highway between Bannister and City Ford, and it was thirty-eight miles long. It was a piece of road greatly favored by automobilists, and it was always well traveled. But this run had been so well advertised that ordinary motor car drivers out for pleasure on this stretch of road would give the right of way to the racing cars.

It was a wide road and almost level. There was not a bridge or a railroad crossing for the entire thirty-eight miles. When the Speedwells struck the head of this piece of highway, Dan slipped out of the chauffeur’s seat, and allowed his brother to get under the wheel.

Billy was eager to feel the throb and jump of the mechanism under his hand. They had stopped a few moments before, too, tried certain bolts, filled the gasoline tank, and “watered her.” Everything seemed as taut as when they rolled out of the Compton Motordrome.

“Now, boy, go to it!” his brother said. “Show them what you can do.”

And Billy was not backward in doing this. He had an ambition to be a fast driver and all the conditions were in his favor. Number forty-eight began to travel immediately, and soon he had brought her up to such speed that – as Dan yelled in his ear – the telegraph poles beside the road looked like a picket fence!

They had passed number forty-five before this, and now, in quick succession they overtook forty-four, thirty-nine and seventeen – the latter having been held back by some slight breakage. But this was too early in the game to be sure that they had passed these cars for good!

Billy, however, gave his dust to several other cars in the race before they traversed that thirty-eight miles of beautiful, hard road. And their time was forty-three minutes!

“Good boy!” cried Dan, as they slowed down to a twelve-mile speed as they struck the head of Market Street in City Ford. “We have run a hundred and five miles and our time is three hours and ten minutes.”

“Why, at this rate,” cried Billy, “we’ll be able to get beyond the Holly Tree Inn to-night. Don’t you think so?”

“I have my doubts about it,” said Dan. “There is no other piece of road like that we’ve just come over. There’ll be little racing for the rest of the day, but just steady plugging along. And we’ve got to eat, old man!”

“Let me stick to the wheel while you take a bite, Dan,” begged the younger boy, “and then I’ll eat. I wonder how far some of the head cars will get to-day? Where’s Mr. Briggs’ car?”

“Haven’t seen it yet. We haven’t passed that maroon baby, you may very well believe!”

“And Mr. Darringford’s car?” queried Billy.

“Why, he’s behind. Didn’t you notice? His number is fifty-three.”

“And number seven?” said Billy. “That’s the car I want to give the dust of the road.”

“You’ll wait a bit for that,” said his brother. “Chance and Burton started too far in advance for us to think of passing them yet.”

“You never can tell,” Billy observed, shaking his head. “Maybe they’ll break down.”

“I hope not,” returned Dan, quickly. “If we beat them I want them to have the best chance possible.”

“Say! I’d like to show ’em up right around Greenbaugh,” said Billy, quickly. “You know, Chance went to Greenbaugh Seminary one year – before his brother came to the Darringford shops.”

“Well?”

“Chance has been blowing around that the Greenbaugh Seminary fellows will give him an ovation when he goes through the town. Of course, he’ll want to be clear ahead of most of the crowd, so as to show ’em what a great driver he is. I don’t care how far ahead he is of the other cars, but when he parades down Greenbaugh’s High Street, I want him to be taking the dust of number forty-eight,” concluded Billy with energy.

“My! but you’re right vicious!” chuckled Dan, as they rumbled out upon the river bridge and left City Ford behind them.

Our heroes climbed hills and descended short, sharp runs; they passed through forest and field; the “slow down” signs faced them frequently and Billy chafed as they ran through the hamlets at what he considered a snail’s pace.

At some places crowds had gathered to watch the contestants pass. Then again other automobiles joined in the procession and kept up with some of the entries for miles. These incidents retarded speed, if anything. The road race was much different from the track trials Dan and Billy had seen.

In some small towns there was little order as the automobiles came through so close together. The constables were more interested in seeing that the motorists did not exceed the speed limit than in keeping the streets clear. Reckless boys would run back and forth across the roadway. It was perilous even to travel at the legal rate.

The Speedwells had passed several more cars. At one big, well-lighted roadhouse there were a dozen of the contestants in the race, having put their cars under the sheds for the night. Mr. Briggs’ big Postlethwaite was just being backed into a stall as the Speedwells shot by. Henri waved his hand to Dan and called good luck after them. It was some satisfaction to the boys to know that they had gotten the best of at least twenty of the other cars. They had then won on them from half an hour to two hours in time.

They had only an hour of their own time remaining, however, and the Holly Tree Inn at Farmingdale was still forty miles away. The roads were reported only fair. But comparatively few cars had been over them and they would not be so badly cut up as were many which lay behind.

And within that forty miles the map showed but two hamlets where it would be necessary to slow down. Both were liberal towns – twelve miles an hour was the limit.

The Breton-Melville car was running smoothly. Not an hour before they had oiled up and groomed her nicely. There was a possibility of making the Holly Tree within the time stipulated.

“And if we don’t, we’ll have to stop at Sharpe’s Crossroads to register and stay for the night,” said Billy, nervously. “That’s the ticket, isn’t it, Dan?”

“That is the result of failure,” smiled his brother. “But we’re not going to fail!”

They had interchanged these remarks at a spot where they had to run slowly. Once free again Dan let the car out with a suddenness that made the machine leap like a horse under the spur. They shot along the country road, overhung with trees which made the darkness deeper, their head-lamps parting the gloom before them, and displaying objects with clearness. The Speedwells had fitted their car with good lamps; but no headlight will reveal an obstruction in the road far enough in advance for a car to be brought to a stop, if it is running at top speed.

They were taking chances, that was a fact. Dan Speedwell was not usually reckless; but he had a double incentive in thus “running on his luck.” Not alone did he desire to make the Holly Tree Inn within the ten-hour limit; but car number seven had not yet been passed!

Burton Poole’s auto was still ahead. Dan believed that Chance Avery would drive Poole’s car at top speed this first day. And Billy himself longed to beat car number seven no more than Dan did, although the latter said less about it.

When the clock, screwed under the wind shield, showed twenty minutes after nine they had traveled seventeen of the forty miles. And right ahead was the second village. For three miles and more they would have to reduce speed – or, were supposed to.

But it is a nice problem to run one of these racing cars at a twelve mile an hour gait!

When number forty-eight came to the head of Main Street, the lights revealed a straggling row of houses on either side, a general store, or two, a postoffice, and a clear street. If Dan reduced speed at all, Billy never noticed it!

They roared through the little town like a limited express going by a flag station. There may have been constables in that town; but they were not on hand. At least, Dan and Billy Speedwell never saw them as they shot along the main thoroughfare and out into the country on the other side.

Faster and faster the machine seemed to fly. When they took the curves Billy threw his weight upon the other side, leaning far off from the step and doing his best to keep the tires on the ground.

They flashed past the little collection of houses as Sharpe’s Crossroads. The clock pointed to twenty minutes to ten. It was nine miles to the Farmingdale Inn.

The car took a curve and the wheels skidded; but Dan did not reduce speed. He got back into the center of the road before they reached a covered bridge over the river.

The bridge was well lighted. Good fortune in that!

As the car rushed down to the covered way Billy suddenly uttered a frightened yell. There was a car stalled right in the path!

The covered bridge was divided by a partition into two driveways. The stalled machine was in the right-hand track – the way the Speedwells should take according to all rules of the road. Its rear lamp was shut off and the Breton-Melville would have crashed into it had not the bridge lights revealed the danger.

And even then it is doubtful if Dan could have braked in time. Indeed, he did not try to. He swerved to the left and saw that that side of the bridge was clear.

The drab car shot across the bridge at terrific speed. The boys could not halt to see what was the matter with the stalled auto. A few moments only did they have to run into Farmingdale. And they would have to reduce speed on the outskirts of the town.

For several miles they had traveled more than a mile a minute!

The day’s race was done, however; the lights of the Holly Tree Inn were in sight. They rolled into the yard, where several autos were already standing, with two minutes to spare. It was twelve minutes to ten.

But as Dan and Billy threw aside their coats and got out to stretch their legs, the younger boy said:

“What car do you suppose that was in the bridge, Dannie?”

“Give it up. Didn’t see any number on it.”

“I know. And Mr. Briggs’ car is behind us – we passed it.”

“Sure,” declared Dan, in surprise.

“Well, that car in the bridgeway was a maroon auto; I didn’t know there was more than one maroon car in the race; did you?” queried Billy, seriously.

CHAPTER XXII
UNDERHAND WORK

Before Dan Speedwell could let this statement of his brother’s fairly penetrate his mind the younger lad said, sharply:

“And here’s another!”

“Another what, Billy?” asked Dan. “Not another maroon auto?”

“Bosh! no! But another car, just the same, that we’re interested in.”

“Number seven!” cried Dan, seeing Burton Poole’s car standing under the inn shed.

“Chance is here, all right, all right!” exclaimed Billy. “We’ve caught up to them.”

“It doesn’t seem possible,” murmured Dan.

“Golly! won’t Chance be sore!”

“They must have met with an accident,” the older Speedwell declared.

“We’ve made as good a run as anybody, I bet,” said Billy, joyfully.

“We don’t know that,” remarked Dan, shaking his head.

“Come on in! Let’s see what they’ve got to say about it.”

“Now Billy,” urged Dan, stopping his younger brother, and speaking seriously. “Don’t you stir up a rumpus. If Chance Avery turns up, you let him alone. No heckling, mind!”

“Aw, well – ”

“If we are running as good as he is we can afford to keep still about it,” said Dan, wisely. “And if we’re not – ”

“Pshaw!”

“If we’re not,” continued Dan, smiling, “he’ll know it fast enough. Let’s not wrangle with him. I want to beat him as badly as you do – and I hope we’ll beat him a plenty; but there’s no use crowing over him – ”

“Hullo!” exclaimed a voice behind them, and the brothers turned swiftly to see Burton Poole arm in arm with Chance himself. By the look on Avery’s face Dan feared that the fellow had heard at least a part of what had been said.

“How under the sun did you get here, Speedwell?” demanded Poole, in vast surprise. “Is that a flying machine you’ve got? I declare, you have beaten some of the best cars in the race!”

“We don’t know that they are beaten yet – except one,” said Dan, quickly. “That one’s in the ditch.”

“But I don’t see how you could have got so far – ”

“But you got here,” snapped Billy. “I don’t see why you should expect to run so much better than we do.”

“Well, my car is a much better auto,” said Poole, with conviction; “and we had a daylight run. What time did you get away? Almost noon, wasn’t it?”

“Ten minutes to twelve,” said Dan.

Poole and Chance looked at each other quickly, and the former said:

“I told you you were wrong, Chance. They got here on time.”

“And with two minutes to spare,” said Billy, tartly. “Oh, I saw the man taking our time on the inn steps as we came in. We’d have heard about it before now if we had run over the schedule.”

Chance growled something in Burton’s ear and they walked away.

“Ha!” ejaculated Billy. “They both thought it would be a walk-over for them. They never expected to see us during the run.”

“Well, they’ve seen us now. Let’s get to work, Billy-boy. We’ve got to overhaul this car before we sleep.”

“If you say so, Dan,” said Billy, yawning wearily.

“It’s best. We want to get away bright and early – by seven o’clock at least. No running after dark again for us. The cars that started late had that handicap.”

“I know,” admitted Billy.

“Now, in the morning, those cars that we have passed, and that have put up short of this place, will be out on the road in good season. We want to keep ahead of those we have already passed.”

“And show some of those that are still ahead of us, our dust, too!” interposed Billy.

“Exactly. Therefore,” concluded his brother, “let’s put our car in proper shape to-night.”

And they did that, although it took them until nearly one o’clock in the morning. But then Dan and Billy had the satisfaction of knowing that their car was again in as good order as it was when it rolled out of the motordrome at Compton the previous noon.

They were weary enough when they went to bed. All the other contestants who had put up at the inn were long since asleep; but some of them would be obliged to spend an hour or two in the morning overhauling and grooming their cars.

Dan and Billy were eating an early breakfast – the clock stood at 6:15 – when Burton Poole came into the dining room, yawning.

“And here’s two more of ’em!” Poole cried. “My! but I didn’t want to get up at all. Chance has been out an hour or more.”

“Your car ready?” asked Billy, with his mouth full.

“Yep. You know, we got in at three o’clock and had plenty of time.”

“Then you’ll be getting under way soon?” suggested Dan.

“We’ll give you a rub on the road, I reckon,” said Burton, lazily. “See what Chance says about it. Oh! here he is.”

Avery came in and, as usual, scowled at Dan and Billy.

“We want to start when the Speedwells do, don’t we, Chance?” asked Burton. “I’d like to see how that old car of theirs runs.”

“We’ll start when we’re ready,” growled Chance. “I don’t want to know anything about the Speedwell’s car – or when they start.”

“Well!” began Billy, but Dan reached over and put a hand on his arm.

“Drop it, youngster!” he commanded.

Billy conquered his anger with an effort, and the brothers were very soon done. They had their gasoline to get and they had already taken the cans around to the nearest supply depot. They proposed to pick them up after leaving the hotel.

Dan reported their time after running the car out of the stable yard. Chance and Burton could easily have been ready, but it was evident that the former deliberately delayed their start until after the Speedwells should get under way.

The Breton-Melville car had sufficient gasoline in her tank to run forty or fifty miles; so they stopped at the fuel station only long enough to strap on the extra cans. It was exactly seven when the car left the Holly Tree Inn, and they could run until five in the afternoon – practically ten hours of daylight.

It was a warm morning, and there was a fog in the valleys. The frost of overnight had turned to patches of black damp upon the ploughed fields. The roads were just moist enough to be treacherous.

There was no car ahead of number forty-eight within sight, and she steamed away from Farmingdale in fine shape. Dan did not try to get any particular speed out of her. Beyond Farmingdale the roads were rather bad for some miles and there were many turns and twists in the way. He feared to travel fast, for the wheels of the drab car could easily skid, and bring them to grief.

Nevertheless, they beat out fifty-three miles in the first two hours. Then they had to stop to feed her gasoline, and while Billy attended to this duty Dan looked her over a little.

“See who’s coming!” exclaimed Billy, looking back as he tipped the contents of the can into the tank.

“I see them. Chance has waked up. He’s going to pass us, I reckon, and show us some fancy running.”

“Oh I don’t know,” grunted Billy. “They’re slowing down.”

“Huh!” said Dan. “All right there?”

“Yep.”

“Open her up a little more and we’ll see what we can do ourselves.”

He cranked up and then got into the car. Billy was already there. The car started slowly. Then she stopped!

“What’s the matter now?” gasped Billy.

They heard the exhaust of number seven behind them. Billy leaped out on one side; Dan on the other. They could find nothing the matter, but it was a fact that the Breton-Melville had stopped dead.

Dan cranked up again and they were getting in when the car run by Chance Avery and Burton Poole passed them slowly. The former was at the wheel; the Speedwells could see his wide grin as he turned his begoggled face toward them.

“Want a tow?” shouted Burton.

Dan waved his hand. He knew that there wasn’t an ounce of meanness in Burton Poole.

“Let’s show those fellow – ” began Billy and then – to their amazement – their engine stopped again.

“Well, isn’t that the limit?” cried the younger Speedwell. “She never acted so before.”

“That’s no reason why she shouldn’t begin,” said Dan, grimly. “We’ve been lucky heretofore.”

“But what’s the matter with her?”

“If I knew I’d tell you,” returned Dan, and went to cranking again.

But this time the engine wouldn’t start at all. It was dead.

“Do you suppose anybody got at this machine while we were away from it?” cried Billy.

“No. There were watchmen at the stables. I saw to that.”

“Chance was up and out mighty early,” said the unconvinced Billy.

“If he’d done anything to the mechanism it would have shown up before now,” declared Dan.

But that there was something wrong there could be no doubt. They were stalled for fifteen minutes, and then one of the other racing cars went by.

“Get a horse!” the chauffeur yelled at them.

Billy was getting anxious. But that would not help them. For some reason the engine would not work. They were stalled between towns and – as far as the Speedwell brothers could see – there was something the matter with their car that they could not correct.

“We might as well kiss our show for the gold cup ‘good-by’!” wailed Billy. “And that Chance Avery will have the laugh on us. Did you see him grin as he sailed by?”

Dan was thoughtful. He began to pay more attention to his brother’s suspicion of Avery. The fellow did go by them as though he had expected the breakdown and knew it would be a fatal one!

And Chance had held back in starting. It seemed that he wanted to be behind the Speedwells and so overtake and enjoy their discomfiture. Dan was not sure but that Billy was right.

What could Chance have done to the machine? Nothing! Dan was positive of that. Not alone were there watchmen in the stableyard, but the young fellow knew from his own examination that no part of the mechanism of the car had been tampered with.

Yet Chance —

Dan suddenly turned on his heel and went to the gasoline tank. He opened it; he looked in, he dipped in a stick and smelled of it. Then he opened an auxiliary tank faucet, and let the fluid run upon the ground.

It was water mixed with gasoline!

Billy ran to him when he heard his cry of rage.

“What is it, Dan?” he asked, amazed by the look in his brother’s countenance.

Dan was not often in a rage. When he was really angry it was well to “stand from under,” as Billy expressed it.

And just now Dan was almost beside himself with sudden passion. He shut off the faucet and sprang to the cans strapped on the running board of the car. One after the other he opened. All water!

“The scoundrel! The blackguard!” cried Dan. “If I had him here I’d make him drink the stuff. Oh, the rascal!”

Billy very quickly was made aware of the catastrophe. They were ten miles from any gasoline supply station, without an ounce of the fluid, and there was not a farmhouse, even, in sight. They could neither telephone for a new supply, nor hire a wagon to bring it to them.

“It will take till noon to get any – noon at the earliest,” groaned Billy. “Dan, we’ve lost all chance of winning Mr. Briggs’ trophy.”