sun rise. The suit-cases had been strapped to the machine, tires were pumped up, there was plenty of water and gasolene in the tanks, the batteries were renewed, and every bit of machinery had been gone over carefully. Andy Rush, the night previous, had sent his things over to Bob’s house, from whence the trip was to be begun. Andy himself arrived right after breakfast.

“Hurrah!” he shouted. “Here we go—all aboard—blow the horn—get out of the way—turn on the gasolene—off brakes—break the records—mile a minute—whoop!”

“You’ll have all the excitement you want for once, I hope, Andy,” said Jerry.

“Betcherlife!” exclaimed Andy, in one breath.

The boys piled into the auto; good-byes were called, over and over again. Then came a toot of a horn as Mr. Wakefield came up the road in his machine, a friend, who intended making the trip, accompanying him.

“All ready, boys?” he called.

“All ready!” replied Jerry, who was going to steer for the first stage.

With a blaring of the automobile trumpets, a waving of hands from those who had gathered to see the start, and a chorus of cries, wishing every one good luck, the little party rode away.

Mr. Wakefield, who knew the road better than did the boys, took the lead. His car was of the same pattern as theirs and both machines were of equal speed. For several miles the two autos puffed along over the pleasant country roads.

No attempt to make time was tried, and at noon the travelers found themselves in Providence, Rhode Island, that being the first stopping place Mr. Wakefield had decided on. The machines were run up in front of a quiet but good hotel, and every one was hungry enough to do full justice to the meal.

“How do you boys like it?” asked Mr. Wakefield at the table. “Do you think you can stand it as far as Chicago?”

They were all sure they could run the machine to San Francisco, if necessary, and Mr. Wakefield and his friend laughed at their enthusiasm.

“We have come about seventy miles without a mishap,” said Mr. Wakefield, “but there are many miles ahead of us yet.”

After a short rest the journey was again taken up, and throughout the afternoon the autos were speeded along. The way was through a pleasant country, and the boys enjoyed the scenery and fresh air. Several times they stopped at farmhouses to get drinks of cold milk, and once a motherly-looking woman filled the boys’ pockets with newly baked doughnuts that were delicious.

“We’ll spend the night in Norwich, Conn.,” said Mr. Wakefield, when the two autos were ready to start, after a momentary stop at a farmhouse.

“Norwich—Norwich! I know Norwich!” exclaimed Andy. “I saw it in a book once—years ago—I was a little fellow—man in the moon came down too soon to inquire the way to Norwich—went by the south—burnt his mouth—eating cold bean porridge!”

“You remember your nursery rhymes well,” said Mr. Wakefield, with a laugh, in which all joined.

On and on chugged the autos. The afternoon waned to dusk and frequent signboards told that the distance from Norwich was constantly lessening. Mr. Wakefield was about half a mile in advance, on a straight, level road. Suddenly came a sound as of a pistol shot.

“Tire busted!” exclaimed Jerry, shutting off the power. Mr. Wakefield heard the noise and turned back.

“Accident?” he inquired.

Jerry explained that one of their inner tubes had blown out.

“Want any help?” asked the athletic instructor.

“We may as well begin now as any other time to mend our own breaks,” spoke Jerry. “You go ahead. We’ll catch up to you soon.”

“All right,” said Mr. Wakefield. He felt that it would be a good thing to accustom the boys to depend on themselves. So, telling them that the road to Norwich was now a straight one, and that the town was about ten miles off, he left them to their own devices.

The boys started in on the not very easy task of taking off the heavy outer shoe and inserting a new inner tube, of which they carried a supply. It finally became so dark that they had to light the lamps to see to work. At length they were finished and the tools were put away.

The new tire was pumped up and the engine started. The boys took their seats, and, at Bob’s request, he was allowed to steer.

“Go slow at first,” advised Jerry, “until we see how the new tube holds.”

Bob started off at first speed. It was now quite dark, but the oil and acetylene lamps gave a good light. All at once Bob, who was peering ahead, shut off the power with a jerk and put the brakes on hard.

“What’s the matter?” asked Jerry.

“Something in the road,” replied the steersman, pointing to a dark object.

The next instant three figures loomed up in the glare of the auto lamps.

“Climb out of that gasolene gig!” exclaimed a rough voice. “We’re hard up an’ we need help!”