View source for The Motor Boys; Or, Chums Through Thick and Thin (Book 1)

<meta
  author="Young, Clarence"
  year_of_publication="1906"
  additional_information=""
  genre="Fiction"
  journal="The Motor Boys: Or Chums Through Thick and Thin"
  page_range="1-242"
/>
<annotations>
===Preface/Chapter I. - An Encounter on Bicycles ===
<paragraph keywords="bicycle, accident">
<poem>
</poem>
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<paragraph keywords="motorcycle, bicycle, animal, car, technology, risk">
<poem>
PREFACE

DEAR BOYS:

Here is a brand-new line of stories for you, to be issued under the general title of "The Motor Boys Series."
The motor-cycle of to-day is fast taking the place of the ordinary bicycle, and the automobile, or auto, as it is commonly called, is taking the place of our horses. This being so, it has occurred to the writer to prepare a line of stories, telling of the doings of a number of lively, up-to-date lads who at first own motor-cycles and later on become the proud possessors of a touring car.
This tale before you, "The Motor Boys," is the first volume of the series, telling of the doings of Ned, Bob, Jerry and their chums in and around their home town. Some stirring races are mentioned, and also the
wicked plots of some enemies to bring our heroes to grief. At the races some fine prizes were put up, and Ned, Bob and Jerry did their best to carry off the honors. In the meantime there was a mysterious robbery of a mill, and what the lads did to solve this riddle I leave to the chapters, which follow, to relate.
This story of "The Motor Boys" will be followed by a second volume, to be called "The Motor Boys Overland," and then by a third, "The Motor Boys in Mexico." I hope these volumes will please my boy readers.

CLARENCE YOUNG.
January 9, 1906.
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="bicycle, tree, rural">
<poem>
CHAPTER I.

AN ENCOUNTER ON BICYCLES

"Hi, Ned! what do you say to a little race?"
"I'm ready," called Ned Slade.
"How about you, Jerry?"
"Oh, I'm always ready," answered Jerry Hopkins, tossing aside the core of an apple he had been eating. "But how far is the race to be, Chunky?"
"To the oak tree," replied Bob Baker.
"Suits me," said Jerry. "All aboard!"
The three bicyclists rose from the grass where they had been resting in the shade of a big maple tree, after a trip of about five miles on their bicycles around the country outside of the village of Cresville, where they lived. Cresville was a pleasant town, not a great many miles from Boston.
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
The three boys were chums, and had been ever since they had started to school together, eight years previous. There was Bob, the son of Andrew Baker, who was counted one of the wealthiest men in Cresville.
His interests were varied, but were mainly in banks and banking institutions. Besides Bob there was in the family a daughter Susie. Bob was fourteen years old, and Susie two years younger, and Bob was so much inclined to stoutness that he was sometimes called "Chunky" by his chums
Ned was the only child of Aaron Slade, owner of the largest department store in the town, and a well-off merchant. As for Jerry he lived with his widowed mother, and his sister Julia Hopkins, a girl whom it would do your heart good to know, she was so jolly and full of fun. The death of Mr. Hopkins, a few years previous, had left his widow with an ample income, which she devoted to the bringing up of her children. Jerry and Ned were the same age, fifteen years.
All three boys were sturdy chaps, full of life and energy. They had studied, played and fought together so long that they had come to be regarded as three inseparables by the townspeople.
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="speed">
<poem>
"Now are you fellows ready for the word?" asked Bob, steadying his wheel in a line with the other two.
"Let her go!" called Jerry.
"Sing out, Chunky!" shouted Ned.
There was a moment of suspense, and a momentary thrill over even so slight a thing as this little sprint among the three boys. Each one meant to win.
"Go!" yelled Bob.
</poem>
</paragraph>


paragraph keywords="bicycle, dust, road condition, macadam">
<poem>
In an instant the wheels were started off. Three boys bounded into three saddles. Three pairs of feet began to pump the pedals desperately. A cloud of dust arose and the race was on.
It was a distance of half a mile from the maple tree, where the start was made, to the oak which Bob had designated as the winning post. The road was a good hard level stretch of macadam and the wheels fairly spun along it.
</poem>
</paragraph>


paragraph keywords="bicycle, speed, tree">
<poem>
At first the boys were on even terms. Then Bob gradually drew away from Ned and Jerry. Seeing this Ned put an extra ounce or two into his pushing and he soon caught up to Bob. These two held the lead on almost a line for a few hundred feet.
Suddenly there was a whirr of wheels behind them, an excited joyous shout and, with a yell, Jerry whizzed past, and obtained such a good advantage that he kept it, until he reached the oak, where he leaped off, and cast himself down in the shade to rest.
</poem>
</paragraph>


paragraph keywords="bicycle, skill, speed">
<poem>
"I didn't think you could do it, Jerry," panted Ned, as he and Bob flashed up two seconds later. "Honest, I didn't."
"Nor I," came from Bob. "You must have been practicing lately."
"Well, I thought I ought to try and improve my wheel-work," said Jerry modestly. "I'm thinking of going in the club races that will be held soon, and I wanted to stand some sort of a show."
"I'd say you stood a pretty good one, if you ride like you did to-day," interposed Ned. "You went past us flying, and Bob and I weren't going so slow, either; were we, Bob?"
"Not exactly."
</poem>
</paragraph>


paragraph keywords="bicycle, motorcycle, gasoline, safety, animal, sunshine">
<poem>
For a few minutes the boys lolled lazily in the grass, enjoying the fresh air and sunshine. Then Bob took three apples from his pocket and treated.
"Do you fellows know what I wish?" began Jerry, who had finished his light lunch first. "I wish we all had motor-cycles."
"It wouldn't be a half-bad idea," agreed Bob, after a little thought. "I'm beginning to get a little tired of this leg-work, myself. How about you, Ned?"
"I think I could use a motor-cycle if one came my way," replied Ned.
"That is after I learned how to operate one, and wouldn't blow myself and the immediate neighborhood up with gasolene."
"They're easy to run," affirmed Jerry, "and no more dangerous than a horse. The catalogue I have says so."
"That reminds me, are you two going in the bicycle races?" asked Jerry. "You know there are going to be some fine prizes."
"You mean the Cresville Athletic Club races?" asked Ned.
"Yes," replied Jerry.
"I hadn't thought much of it," said Bob. "I heard about 'em, but it takes a lot of time to train, and you have to almost starve yourself."
"How about you, Ned?"
"Well, if you and Bob go in for it, Jerry, I s'pose I might as well too. Tell us what you know about the races."
</poem>
</paragraph>


paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
Jerry related what he had heard about the plans of the athletic club to hold an out-door meet on their grounds three weeks hence. As he had said, several valuable prizes were to be awarded, and there were many classes of handicap contests, so that the boys would have plenty of chances to enter, and stand a good show of winning one or more of the trophies.
</poem>
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paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
"It sounds good," said Ned at length.
"I'm going to enter, and begin training at once," decided Chunky.
"Same here, then," came from Ned. "Have you entered yet, Jerry?"
"No, but I've begun to train some. There's plenty of time to send in your name if you want to enter. The lists are open until five days before the races."
"All right, then it's settled," exclaimed Ned, slowly rising from his comfortable berth in the grass.
</poem>
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paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
The three boys mounted their wheels and started slowly homeward. They took their time, keeping close together and talking now of the coming races and again of the prospects of owning motor-cycles. At the top of a long, gentle sloping hill, that led down, almost to the centre of the town, the boys put their feet on the coasters and let their wheels glide down by gravity. Soon they were going at a rapid rate, with Ned slightly in the lead.
At the foot of the hill another road crossed at right angles. By reason of a turn to this second road, and a clump of trees, any one passing along it could not be seen until he was nearly in the middle of the hill road.
Suddenly there shot from behind the clump of trees lining the cross-road, a figure on a wheel.
</poem>
</paragraph>


paragraph keywords="bicycle, speed, accident, highway">
<poem>
"Look out!" yelled Bob and Jerry.
Ned looked up and saw, but was too late. He could not check his speed, and the only thing to do was to turn to one side, and try to avoid the other rider. Unfortunately the other rider, also seeing the danger, took the same turn as had Ned.
"There's going to be a smash!" called Jerry in excited tones.
The shock threw Ned and the other cyclist from their wheels into the dusty road. The bicycles went in one direction and the riders in another. Both boys were lying still on the highway when Bob and Jerry came running up.
</poem>
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paragraph keywords="bicycle, accident">
<poem>
Are they killed?" asked Jerry in a trembling voice.
"No, only stunned, I guess," answered Bob, feeling of Ned's heart, and finding it beating. "Let's see who the other fellow is."
He turned the boy who had collided with Ned over.
"Noddy Nixon!" he said. "He'll be sure to say this was Ned's fault, and it may make trouble. I wish Ned had put on his brake."
Ned sat up and opened his eyes. A few seconds later Noddy Nixon did likewise.
"What happened?" gasped Ned, rubbing the dust from his eyes.
"You had a little spill, that's all," answered Bob.
"A little spill? I should say we did," snarled Noddy, who was larger and stronger than any of the three chums, and older, being about eighteen. "A nasty little spill it was, too. And all your fault, Ned Slade! Why didn't you look where you were going?"
"Why didn't you look?" asked Ned, hotly. "I turned out to avoid you, and if you'd been paying attention you wouldn't have steered right into me. It's as much your fault as it is mine."
"My leg's broke," came from Noddy. "You'll suffer for this!"
"Get up and let's see if it's broken," urged Bob, taking hold of Noddy's shoulder.
"Oh! Ouch!" screamed Noddy, who though he was strong and a bully was also a great coward in pain. "My shoulder's broken, too. I'll sue you for this, Ned Slade, after I get well, and I'll lick you, too."
"Oh, dry up!" muttered Ned, who was painfully limping toward his wheel.
</poem>
</paragraph>


paragraph keywords="bicycle, accident">
<poem>
When Noddy came to move he discovered that he was not as badly hurt as he had foolishly imagined. He got on his feet, brushed the dirt from his clothes, and found that he could walk all right. But he scowled darkly when he saw Bob grinning at him.
"You're more scared than hurt," said Bob.
"Look here, you impudent little snob!" burst out Noddy, limping over toward the boy who was still smiling. "Don't give me any of your lip. I won't stand it. I'll knock your head off!"
"Better not try," advised Bob quietly, the smile leaving his face. "Two can play at that game."
"Yes, and so can we all of us!" broke in Jerry, who was something of a boxer. "We're sorry for what happened, Nixon," he went on, "but you needn't rub it in."
"Oh, shut-up!" cried Noddy, turning away, and picking up his wheel. "I'll get even with you for this, though," he muttered.
"Two of my spokes are broken," he went on, after an examination of his bicycle. "You'll have to pay for them, Ned Slade."
"So are two of mine, and my handle bars are bent," retorted Ned. "I guess we'll call it even, Noddy. I won't charge you for straightening the handles," and he laughed in spite of the pain of his bruises.
"You--you!" began Noddy, but rage seemed to choke him, and with scowling face he mounted his wheel and rode slowly away. "You just wait!" he shouted back, shaking his head at the three boys.
</poem>
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