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Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Auden, Wystan Hugh Genre Poetry Journal or Book W. H. Auden Publisher Faber and Faber Year of Publication 1927 Pages 3 Additional information - Who stands, the crux left of the watershed, On the wet road between the chafing grass Below him sees dismantled washing-floors, Snatches of tramline running to the wood, An industry already comatose, Yet sparsely living. A ramshackle engine At Cashwell raises water; for ten years It lay in flooded workings until this, Its latter office, grudgingly performed. And further here and there, though many dead Lie under the poor soil, some acts are chosen Taken from recent winters; two there were Cleaned out a damaged shaft by hand, clutching The winch the gale would tear them from; one died During a storm, the fells impassable, Not at his village, but in wooden shape Through long abandoned levels nosed his way And in his final valley went to ground. road forest road condition engine personification risk safety death winter storm Go home, now, stranger, proud of your young stock, Stranger, turn back again, frustrate and vexed: This land, cut off, will not communicate, Be no accessory content to one Aimless for faces rather there than here. Beams from your car may cross a bedroom wall, They wake no sleeper; you may hear the wind Arriving driven from the ignorant sea To hurt itself on pane, on bark of elm Where sap unbaffled rises, being Spring; But seldom this. Near you, taller than grass, Ears poise before decision, scenting danger. affect risk car metaphor wind ocean tree spring sound safety wind ocean tree spring sound safety +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Auden, Wystan Hugh Genre Poetry Journal or Book W. H. Auden Poems Publisher Faber and Faber Year of Publication 1930 Pages 65-68 Additional information - Get there if you can and see the land you once were proud to own Though the roads have almost vanished and the expresses never run: nostalgia road Smokeless chimneys, damaged bridges, rotting wharves and choked canals, Tramlines buckled, smashed trucks lying on their side across the rails; infrastructure bridge truck Power-stations locked, deserted, since they drew the boiler fires; Pylons fallen or subsiding, trailing dead high-tension wires; infrastructure Head-gears gaunt on grass-grown pit-banks, seams abandoned years ago; Drop a stone and listen for its splash in flooded dark below. Squeeze into the works through broken windows or through damp-sprung doors; See the rotted shafting, see holes gaping in the upper floors; Where the Sunday lads come talking motor bicycle and girl, Smoking cigarettes in chains until their heads are in a whirl. motorcycle Far from there we spent the money, thinking we could well afford, While they quietly undersold us with their cheaper trade abroad; At the theatre, playing tennis, driving motor cars we had, In our continental villas, mixing cocktails for a cad. driving These were boon companions who devised the legends for our tombs, These who have betrayed us nicely while we took them to our rooms. Newman, Ciddy, Plato, Fronny, Pascal, Bowdler, Baudelaire, Doctor Frommer, Mrs Allom, Freud, the Baron, and Flaubert. Lured with their compelling logic, charmed with beauty of their verse, With their loaded sideboards whispered ‘Better join us, life is worse.’ Taught us at the annual camps arranged by the big business men ‘Sunbathe, pretty till you’re twenty. You shall be our servants then.’ Perfect pater. Marvellous mater. Knock the critic down who dares — Very well, believe it, copy; till your hair is white as theirs. Yours you say were parents to avoid, avoid then if you please Do the reverse on all occasion till you catch the same disease. When we asked the way to Heaven, these directed us ahead To the padded room, the clinic and the hangman’s little shed. Intimate as war-time prisoners in an isolation camp, Living month by month together, nervy, famished, lousy, damp. On the sopping esplanade or from our dingy lodgings we Stare out dully at the rain which falls for miles into the sea. Lawrence, Blake and Homer Lane, once healers in our English land; These are dead as iron for ever; these can never hold our hand. Lawrence was brought down by smut-hounds, Blake went dotty as he sang, Homer Lane was killed in action by the Twickenham Baptist gang. Have things gone too far already? Are we done for? Must we wait Hearing doom’s approaching footsteps regular down miles of straight; Run the whole night through in gumboots, stumble on and gasp for breath, Terrors drawing close and closer, winter landscape, fox’s death; Or, in friendly fireside circle, sit and listen for the crash Meaning that the mob has realized something’s up, and start to smash; Engine-drivers with their oil-cans, factory girls in overalls Blowing sky-high monster stores, destroying intellectuals? resources oil engine driver sky pollution metaphor Hope and fear are neck and neck: which is it near the course’s end Crashes, having lost his nerve; is overtaken on the bend? crash Shut up talking, charming in the best suits to be had in town, Lecturing on navigation while the ship is going down. Drop those priggish ways for ever, stop behaving like a stone: Throw the bath-chairs right away, and learn to leave ourselves alone. If we really want to live, we’d better start at once to try; If we don’t, it doesn’t matter, but we’d better start to die. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Auden, Wystan Hugh Genre Poetry Journal or Book - Publisher - Year of Publication 1928 Pages 39 Additional information - From the very first coming down Into a new valley with a frown Because of the sun and a lost way, You certainly remain: to-day I, crouching behind a sheep-pen, heard Travel across a sudden bird, Cry out against the storm, and found The year’s arc a completed round And love’s worn circuit re-begun, Endless with no dissenting turn. Shall see, shall pass, as we have seen The swallow on the tile, spring’s green Preliminary shiver, passed A solitary truck, the last Of shunting in the Autumn. But now To interrupt the homely brow, Thought warmed to evening through and through Your letter comes, speaking as you, Speaking of much but not to come. road animal storm season other mobilities car affect metaphor Nor speech is close nor fingers numb, If love not seldom has received An unjust answer, was deceived. I, decent with the seasons, move Different or with a different love, Nor question overmuch the nod, The stone smile of this country god That never was more reticent, Always afraid to say more than it meant. say more than it meant. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Crane, Hart Genre Poetry Journal or Book The Collected Poems of Hart Crane Publisher Liveright Publishing Corporation Year of Publication 1933 Pages 31-39 Additional information - animal East The seas all crossed, weathered the capes, the voyage done... —WALT WHITMAN Imponderable the dinosaur sinks slow, the mammoth saurian ghoul, the eastern Cape.. animal East While rises in the west the coastwise range, slowly the hushed land— Combustion at the astral core—the dorsal change Of energy—convulsive shift of sand... But we, who round the capes, the promontories Where strange tongues vary messages of surf Below grey citadels, repeating to the stars The ancient names—return home to our own Hearths, there to eat an apple and recall The songs that gypsies dealt us at Marseille Or how the priests walked—slowly through Bombay— Or to read you, Walt,—knowing us in thrall West engine metaphor coast intertext To that deep wonderment, our native clay Whose depth of red, eternal flesh of Pocahontus— Those continental folded aeons, surcharged With sweetness below derricks, chimneys, tunnels— Is veined by all that time has really pledged us... And from above, thin squeaks of radio static, The captured fume of space foams in our ears— What whisperings of far watches on the main Relapsing into silence, while time clears Our lenses, lifts a focus, resurrects A periscope to glimpse what joys or pain Our eyes can share or answer—then deflects Us, shunting to a labyrinth submersed Where each sees only his dim past reversed... Native American infrastructure oil technology sound But that star-glistered salver of infinity, The circle, blind crucible of endless space, Is sliced by motion,—subjugated never. Adam and Adam's answer in the forest Left Hesperus mirrored in the lucid pool. Now the eagle dominates our days, is jurist Of the ambiguous cloud. We know the strident rule Of wings imperious... Space, instantaneous, Flickers a moment, consumes us in its smile: A flash over the horizon—shifting gears— And we have laughter, or more sudden tears. Dream cancels dream in this new realm of fact From which we wake into the dream of act; Seeing himself an atom in a shroud— Man hears himself an engine in a cloud! night animal car part stars engine metaphor driving "—Recorders ages hence"—ah, syllables of faith! Walt, tell me, Walt Whitman, if infinity Be still the same as when you walked the beach Near Paumanok—your lone patrol—and heard the wraith Through surf, its bird note there a long time falling... For you, the panoramas and this breed of towers, Of you—the theme that's statured in the cliff, O Saunterer on free ways still ahead! Not this our empire yet, but labyrinth Wherein your eyes, like the Great Navigator's without ship, Gleam from the great stones of each prison crypt Of canyoned traffic... Confronting the Exchange, Surviving in a world of stocks,—they also range Across the hills where second timber strays Back over Connecticut farms, abandoned pastures,— Sea eyes and tidal, undenying, bright with myth! intertext traffic metaphor agriculture animal The nasal whine of power whips a new universe... Where spouting pillars spoor the evening sky, Under the looming stacks of the gigantic power house Stars prick the eyes with sharp ammoniac proverbs, New verities, new inklings in the velvet hummed Of dynamos, where hearing's leash is strummed... Power's script,—wound, bobbin-bound, refined— Is stropped to the slap of belts on booming spools, spurred Into the bulging bouillon, harnessed jelly of the stars. Towards what? The forked crash of split thunder parts Our hearing momentwise; but fast in whirling armatures, As bright as frogs' eyes, giggling in the girth Of steely gizzards—axle-bound, confined In coiled precision, bunched in mutual glee The bearings glint,—O murmurless and shined In oilrinsed circles of blind ecstasy! sound pollution infrastructure oil car part thunder animal Stars scribble on our eyes the frosty sagas, The gleaming cantos of unvanquished space... O sinewy silver biplane, nudging the wind's withers! There, from Kill Devils Hill at Kitty Hawk Two brothers in their twinship left the dune; Warping the gale, the Wright windwrestlers veered Capeward, then blading the wind's flank, banked and spun What ciphers risen from prophetic script, What marathons new-set between the stars! The soul, by naphtha fledged into new reaches Already knows the closer clasp of Mars,— New latitudes, unknotting, soon give place To what fierce schedules, rife of doom apace! night stars wind speed plane Behold the dragon's covey—amphibian, ubiquitous To hedge the seaboard, wrap the headland, ride The blue's cloud-templed districts unto ether... While Iliads glimmer through eyes raised in pride Hell's belt springs wider into heaven's plumed side. O bright circumferences, heights employed to fly War's fiery kennel masked in downy offings,— This tournament of space, the threshed and chiselled height, Is baited by marauding circles, bludgeon flail Of rancorous grenades whose screaming petals carve us Wounds that we wrap with theorems sharp as hail! intertext Wheeled swiftly, wings emerge from larval-silver hangars. Taut motors surge, space-gnawing, into flight; Through sparkling visibility, outspread, unsleeping, Wings clip the last peripheries of light... Tellurian wind-sleuths on dawn patrol, Each plane a hurtling javelin of winged ordnance, Bristle the heights above a screeching gale to hover; Surely no eye that Sunward Escadrille can cover! There, meaningful, fledged as the Pleiades With razor sheen they zoom each rapid helix! Up-chartered choristers of their own speeding They, cavalcade on escapade, shear Cumulus— Lay siege and hurdle Cirrus down the skies! While Cetus-like, O thou Dirigible, enormous Lounger Of pendulous auroral beaches,—satellited wide By convoy planes, moonferrets that rejoin thee On fleeing balconies as thou dost glide, —Hast splintered space! metaphor car speed visibility driving wind car part weapon intertext technology Low, shadowed of the Cape, Regard the moving turrets! From grey decks See scouting griffons rise through gaseous crepe Hung low... until a conch of thunder answers Cloud-belfries, banging, while searchlights, like fencers, Slit the sky's pancreas of foaming anthracite Toward thee, O Corsair of the typhoon,—pilot, hear! Thine eyes bicarbonated white by speed, O Skygak, see How from thy path above the levin's lance Thou sowest doom thou hast nor time nor chance To reckon—as thy stilly eyes partake What alcohol of space...! Remember, Falcon-Ace, Thou hast there in thy wrist a Sanskrit charge To conjugate infinity's dim marge— Anew...! plane But first, here at this height receive The benediction of the shell's deep, sure reprieve! Lead-perforated fuselage, escutcheoned wings Lift agonized quittance, tilting from the invisible brink Now eagle-bright, now quarry-hid, twist- -ing, sink with Enormous repercussive list- -ings down Giddily spiralled gauntlets, upturned, unlooping In guerrilla sleights, trapped in combustion gyr- Ing, dance the curdled depth down whizzing Zodiacs, dashed (now nearing fast the Cape!) down gravitation's vortex into crashed ...dispersion...into mashed and shapeless débris.... By Hatteras bunched the beached heap of high bravery! plane * The stars have grooved our eyes with old persuasions Of love and hatred, birth,—surcease of nations... But who has held the heights more sure than thou, O Walt!—Ascensions of thee hover in me now As thou at junctions elegiac, there, of speed With vast eternity, dost wield the rebound seed! The competent loam, the probable grass,—travail Of tides awash the pedestal of Everest, fail Not less than thou in pure impulse inbred To answer deepest soundings! O, upward from the dead Thou bringest tally, and a pact, new bound, Of living brotherhood! intertext Thou, there beyond— Glacial sierras and the flight of ravens, Hermetically past condor zones, through zenith havens Past where the albatross has offered up His last wing-pulse, and downcast as a cup That's drained, is shivered back to earth—thy wand Has beat a song, O Walt,—there and beyond! And this, thine other hand, upon my heart Is plummet ushered of those tears that start What memories of vigils, bloody, by that Cape,— Ghoul-mound of man's perversity at balk And fraternal massacre! Thou, pallid there as chalk, Hast kept of wounds, O Mourner, all that sum That then from Appomattox stretched to Somme! Cowslip and shad-blow, flaked like tethered foam Around bared teeth of stallions, bloomed that spring When first I read thy lines, rife as the loam Of prairies, yet like breakers cliffward leaping! O, early following thee, I searched the hill Blue-writ and odor-firm with violets, 'til With June the mountain laurel broke through green And filled the forest with what clustrous sheen! Potomac lilies, — then the Pontiac rose, And Klondike edelweiss of occult snows! White banks of moonlight came descending valleys— How speechful on oak-vizored palisades, As vibrantly I following down Sequoia alleys Heard thunder's eloquence through green arcades Set trumpets breathing in each clump and grass tuft—'til Gold autumn, captured, crowned the trembling hill! Panis Angelicus! Eyes tranquil with the blaze Of love's own diametric gaze, of love's amaze! Not greatest, thou,—not first, nor last,—but near And onward yielding past my utmost year. Familiar, thou, as mendicants in public places; Evasive—too—as dayspring's spreading arc to trace is:— Our Meistersinger, thou set breath in steel; And it was thou who on the boldest heel Stood up and flung the span on even wing Of that great Bridge, our Myth, whereof I sing! Years of the Modern! Propulsions toward what capes? But thou, Panis Angelicus, hast thou not seen And passed that Barrier that none escapes— But knows it leastwise as death-strife?—O, something green, Beyond all sesames of science was thy choice Wherewith to bind us throbbing with one voice, New integers of Roman, Viking, Celt— Thou, Vedic Caesar, to the greensward knelt! And now, as launched in abysmal cupolas of space, Toward endless terminals, Easters of speeding light— Vast engines outward veering with seraphic grace On clarion cylinders pass out of sight To course that span of consciousness thou'st named The Open Road—thy vision is reclaimed! What heritage thou'st signalled to our hands! infrastructure road engine car part vision And see! the rainbow's arch—how shimmeringly stands Above the Cape's ghoul-mound, O joyous seer! Recorders ages hence, yes, they shall hear In their own veins uncancelled thy sure tread And read thee by the aureole 'round thy head Of pasture-shine, Panis Angelicus! Yes, Walt, Afoot again, and onward without halt,— Not soon, nor suddenly,—No, never to let go My hand in yours, Walt Whitman— so— road rainbow intertext +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Crane, Hart Genre Poetry Journal or Book The Collected Poems of Hart Crane Publisher - Year of Publication 1926 Pages 73-74 Additional information - We make our meek adjustments, Contented with such random consolations As the wind deposits In slithered and too ample pockets. For we can still love the world, who find A famished kitten on the step, and know Recesses for it from the fury of the street, Or warm torn elbow coverts. town urban animal street traffic risk anthropomorphism We will sidestep, and to the final smirk Dally the doom of that inevitable thumb That slowly chafes its puckered index toward us, Facing the dull squint with what innocence And what surprise! And yet these fine collapses are not lies More than the pirouettes of any pliant cane; Our obsequies are, in a way, no enterprise. We can evade you, and all else but the heart: What blame to us if the heart live on. The game enforces smirks; but we have seen The moon in lonely alleys make A grail of laughter of an empty ash can, And through all sound of gaiety and quest Have heard a kitten in the wilderness.st Have heard a kitten in the wilderness. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Delany, Philip Genre Non-Fiction Journal or Book Outing , vol. 43 , no. 2 Publisher - Year of Publication 1903 Pages 131-136 Additional information - pioneer Romance is fast being crowded out of the life of the pioneer; once he depended upon his own sturdy legs, or those of his broncho or burronow he may, if he like, ride in an automobile, the latest pathfinder of the plains. The machine has its thrilling side, too. affect car pleasure technology pioneer To climb mountain passes with a thirty-per-cent grade, to coast down rocky roads with only a few feet from wheels to the edge of an abyss of picturesque wonders, to swing along southern paths made famous by the Indians and pony express riders of only a few years ago, and along which a motor-car had never before been seen, this is an automobile trip that has exploring and sight seeing, and excitement enough to suit the most adventurous spirit. Such a journey I took this spring with Mr. W. W. Price, who has, with an automobile, re-discovered many a Western cañon, pass and desert. car road condition car part desert mountain Native American passenger scenery topography It took us two hours to run from Colorado Springs—our starting point—to Pueblo, past Pike's Peak and Cheyenne Mountain, most of the way over hot alkali plains, furrowed deep by cloud-burst and spring freshets. From Pueblo, taking supplies for the machine, we struck south across country. We were soon out of the world, drifting across a roadless land made more weird by the light which the moon threw over it. We were trying to locate the main highway to Walsenburg. For a time we crawled along where lines showed teams had once gone, until we came to a Mexican ranch of adobe houses; but the three big headlights on the machine discovered no one and we crept slowly away from the corral, the machine thudding sullenly under us. Then suddenly we blundered into the roadway and away we went at a rate of thirty miles an hour, transfixing with wonder a few Mexicans who were camping near by. adobe car part driving mountain engine highway infrastructure metaphor Midwest night passenger road side rural slowness sound Spring South from Walsenburg, the next day we swung past the Spanish Peaks, snow-white above the evergreens. Mountains were everywhere. They leaned in to- ward us threateningly through the clear air from all sides. Then down through Trinidad, toward Raton, New Mexico, the way wound around foothills, black with outcroppings of coal. From Raton we left the railroad lines, which had paralleled us, and pushed across the level plains, where cattle turned and ran in herds at the sight of a motor on the old Mexican land grant and the machine slowed down, necessarily, and followed the burro pace-maker. After a night in an old adobe house in Cimarron we went down through the cañon, its rocky walls echoing in hollow calls the throbbing of the machine. As we hurried along, a fuzzy-coated burro walked out placidly before the car and nonchalantly jogged along, and the machine slowed down, necessarily, and followed the burro pace-maker. And so we were led into Elizabethtown, whose placer diggings were the scene of a wild scramble in '68. adobe air affect animal car driving risk engine scenery Southwest Having come in to Elizabethtown through a hole we went out over a cloud. There are no other ways. The mountains surround it. The Indians call this pass “arrow stick in pole," it is so steep. Once at the summit, twisting and bending like a floundering whale, the car coasted down to the irrigated plain of Taos, where Indians, resting on their hoes, eyed us silently, and Mexicans saluted gracefully. Three miles beyond we swooped suddenly down upon the settlement of five-story, terraced houses of the Red Willow Indians. In their gaudy blankets they swarmed to the earthen housetops and watched us silently. But when, after much coaxing, we crowded the car with redskins and sent it dashing up and down at breakneck speed there were such war-whoops as city dwellers never hear. car road condition driving risk infrastructure mountain Native American These Indians believe that the Great Spirit has guided them to this promised land. They wandered here from the north, and we listened, standing with bare heads in an underground council chamber, to the recital in Spanish of the story of their faith. They are a fine example of the early American aristocracy at its best. They have some lessons for modern American society. In Taos, too, lived and lies Kit Carson, the hunter and trapper, scout and soldier. From Taos we pushed through sand for many miles. The only living thing we saw was a gray coyote. But the desert is clean and sunny, which is something. At last we reached harder soil and green things growing. Indians greeted us on the way, and finally we came to the cliff dwellings of Pajorito Park, one of the many ruins of the great centuries-ago cities of the Southwest. One of the localities showed that 250,000 people lived there in houses, some of them five stories, or about seventy-five feet high. Irrigation, agriculture, industries and arts were all parts of their daily life. desert driving road surface animal scenery Native American Southwest agriculture Running in to Santa Fé we passed wagons crowded with Indians, gorgeous in color, from bullet-headed papoose to squaw and buck. They all watched us stolidly, while the bronchos reeled and jumped with fright until we were out of sight. Then the bronchos probably received some attention. affect driving Native American Southwest Santa Fé is rich with history, and the road on to Las Vegas is rich with color and beautiful landscape. The wild green on every side is cut with clean white streams full of trout for the angler. The little Mexican adobe village of San José, which has scarcely changed in a century, nestles in the heart of this country. adobe driving road road side scenery rural Southwest When we went through San José I began to understand over again and in a new way Mark Twain's "Adventures of a Connecticut Yankee." The whole of King Arthur's court on bicycles could not have started the stir we created in that single automobile. We went through the place like the wind, the machine snorting, whistle tooting, while the poor inhabitants huddled into frightened groups out of reach. We were a kind of first thunderstorm to them. affect car intertext car metaphor personification We had a plunge in the Las Vegas Hot Springs and started north again along the old Santa Fé trail, meeting few people and seeing little that was new. One begrizzled old man, at an isolated shack, watched us so wistfully as he brought us some water that we half wanted to take him into the car and drive him into civilization, but he is probably happier as he is. From Raton it is back, over the same way we came, to Colorado Springs and home. driving rural Midwest Southwest And so the machine is conquering the old frontier, carrying the thudding of modern mechanics into the land of romance. There are many pleasures in such a journey; you bring a new thing to an old people and they re-teach you old things that should never be forgotten. You see, perhaps, the wildest and most natural places on the continent; and there's a touch of adventure, for such a trip cannot be taken without some danger. We crowded what used to take months to do in nine days-nine hundred miles up mountain and down valley. The trails of Kit Carson and Boone and Crockett, and the rest of the early frontiersmen, stretch out before the adventurous automobilist. And when he is tired of the old, there are new paths to be made. He has no beaten track to follow, no schedule to meet, no other train to consider; but he can go with the speed of an express straight into the heart of an unknown land. And he isn't in much greater danger than the man who pilots his machine between the trucks and carriages of a crowded city street. It is only the beginning of automobile exploring and frontiering in the old West. car metaphor pioneer pleasure scenery sublime technology urban +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Fitzgerald, F. Scott Genre Novel Journal or Book - Publisher - Year of Publication 1922 Pages 1-449 Additional information https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/9830/pg9830-images.html BOOK ONE [ edit | edit source ] CHAPTER I (1-30) [ edit | edit source ] car bus city urban ANTHONY PATCH IN 1913, when Anthony Patch was twenty-five, two years were already gone since irony, the Holy Ghost of this later day, had, theoretically at least, descended upon him. Irony was the final polish of the shoe, the ultimate dab of the clothes-brush, a sort of intellectual "There!"—yet at the brink of this story he has as yet gone no further than the conscious stage. As you first see him he wonders frequently whether he is not without honor and slightly mad, a shameful and obscene thinness glistening on the surface of the world like oil on a clean pond, these occasions being varied, of course, with those in which he thinks himself rather an exceptional young man, thoroughly sophisticated, well adjusted to his environment, and somewhat more significant than any one else he knows. This was his healthy state and it made him cheerful, pleasant, and very attractive to intelligent men and to all women. In this state he considered that he would one day accomplish some quiet subtle thing that the elect would deem worthy and, passing on, would join the dimmer stars in a nebulous, indeterminate heaven half-way between death and immortality. Until the time came for this effort he would be Anthony Patch—not a portrait of a man but a distinct and dynamic personality, opinionated, contemptuous, functioning from within outward—a man who was aware that there could be no honor and yet had honor, who knew the sophistry of courage and yet was brave. A WORTHY MAN AND HIS GIFTED SON Anthony drew as much consciousness of social security from being the grandson of Adam J. Patch as he would have had from tracing his line over the sea to the crusaders. This is inevitable; Virginians and Bostonians to the contrary notwithstanding, an aristocracy founded sheerly on money postulates wealth in the particular. Now Adam J. Patch, more familiarly known as "Cross Patch," left his father's farm in Tarrytown early in sixty-one to join a New York cavalry regiment. He came home from the war a major, charged into Wall Street, and amid much fuss, fume, applause, and ill will he gathered to himself some seventy-five million dollars. This occupied his energies until he was fifty-seven years old. It was then that he determined, after a severe attack of sclerosis, to consecrate the remainder of his life to the moral regeneration of the world. He became a reformer among reformers. Emulating the magnificent efforts of Anthony Comstock, after whom his grandson was named, he levelled a varied assortment of uppercuts and body-blows at liquor, literature, vice, art, patent medicines, and Sunday theatres. His mind, under the influence of that insidious mildew which eventually forms on all but the few, gave itself up furiously to every indignation of the age. From an armchair in the office of his Tarrytown estate he directed against the enormous hypothetical enemy, unrighteousness, a campaign which went on through fifteen years, during which he displayed himself a rabid monomaniac, an unqualified nuisance, and an intolerable bore. The year in which this story opens found him wearying; his campaign had grown desultory; 1861 was creeping up slowly on 1895; his thoughts ran a great deal on the Civil War, somewhat on his dead wife and son, almost infinitesimally on his grandson Anthony. Early in his career Adam Patch had married an anæmic lady of thirty, Alicia Withers, who brought him one hundred thousand dollars and an impeccable entré into the banking circles of New York. Immediately and rather spunkily she had borne him a son and, as if completely devitalized by the magnificence of this performance, she had thenceforth effaced herself within the shadowy dimensions of the nursery. The boy, Adam Ulysses Patch, became an inveterate joiner of clubs, connoisseur of good form, and driver of tandems—at the astonishing age of twenty-six he began his memoirs under the title "New York Society as I Have Seen It." On the rumor of its conception this work was eagerly bid for among publishers, but as it proved after his death to be immoderately verbose and overpoweringly dull, it never obtained even a private printing. This Fifth Avenue Chesterfield married at twenty-two. His wife was Henrietta Lebrune, the Boston "Society Contralto," and the single child of the union was, at the request of his grandfather, christened Anthony Comstock Patch. When he went to Harvard, the Comstock dropped out of his name to a nether hell of oblivion and was never heard of thereafter. Young Anthony had one picture of his father and mother together—so often had it faced his eyes in childhood that it had acquired the impersonality of furniture, but every one who came into his bedroom regarded it with interest. It showed a dandy of the nineties, spare and handsome, standing beside a tall dark lady with a muff and the suggestion of a bustle. Between them was a little boy with long brown curls, dressed in a velvet Lord Fauntleroy suit. This was Anthony at five, the year of his mother's death. His memories of the Boston Society Contralto were nebulous and musical. She was a lady who sang, sang, sang, in the music room of their house on Washington Square—sometimes with guests scattered all about her, the men with their arms folded, balanced breathlessly on the edges of sofas, the women with their hands in their laps, occasionally making little whispers to the men and always clapping very briskly and uttering cooing cries after each song—and often she sang to Anthony alone, in Italian or French or in a strange and terrible dialect which she imagined to be the speech of the Southern negro. His recollections of the gallant Ulysses, the first man in America to roll the lapels of his coat, were much more vivid. After Henrietta Lebrune Patch had "joined another choir," as her widower huskily remarked from time to time, father and son lived up at grampa's in Tarrytown, and Ulysses came daily to Anthony's nursery and expelled pleasant, thick-smelling words for sometimes as much as an hour. He was continually promising Anthony hunting trips and fishing trips and excursions to Atlantic City, "oh, some time soon now"; but none of them ever materialized. One trip they did take; when Anthony was eleven they went abroad, to England and Switzerland, and there in the best hotel in Lucerne his father died with much sweating and grunting and crying aloud for air. In a panic of despair and terror Anthony was brought back to America, wedded to a vague melancholy that was to stay beside him through the rest of his life. PAST AND PERSON OF THE HERO At eleven he had a horror of death. Within six impressionable years his parents had died and his grandmother had faded off almost imperceptibly, until, for the first time since her marriage, her person held for one day an unquestioned supremacy over her own drawing room. So to Anthony life was a struggle against death, that waited at every corner. It was as a concession to his hypochondriacal imagination that he formed the habit of reading in bed—it soothed him. He read until he was tired and often fell asleep with the lights still on. His favorite diversion until he was fourteen was his stamp collection; enormous, as nearly exhaustive as a boy's could be—his grandfather considered fatuously that it was teaching him geography. So Anthony kept up a correspondence with a half dozen "Stamp and Coin" companies and it was rare that the mail failed to bring him new stamp-books or packages of glittering approval sheets—there was a mysterious fascination in transferring his acquisitions interminably from one book to another. His stamps were his greatest happiness and he bestowed impatient frowns on any one who interrupted him at play with them; they devoured his allowance every month, and he lay awake at night musing untiringly on their variety and many-colored splendor. At sixteen he had lived almost entirely within himself, an inarticulate boy, thoroughly un-American, and politely bewildered by his contemporaries. The two preceding years had been spent in Europe with a private tutor, who persuaded him that Harvard was the thing; it would "open doors," it would be a tremendous tonic, it would give him innumerable self-sacrificing and devoted friends. So he went to Harvard—there was no other logical thing to be done with him. Oblivious to the social system, he lived for a while alone and unsought in a high room in Beck Hall—a slim dark boy of medium height with a shy sensitive mouth. His allowance was more than liberal. He laid the foundations for a library by purchasing from a wandering bibliophile first editions of Swinburne, Meredith, and Hardy, and a yellowed illegible autograph letter of Keats's, finding later that he had been amazingly overcharged. He became an exquisite dandy, amassed a rather pathetic collection of silk pajamas, brocaded dressing-gowns, and neckties too flamboyant to wear; in this secret finery he would parade before a mirror in his room or lie stretched in satin along his window-seat looking down on the yard and realizing dimly this clamor, breathless and immediate, in which it seemed he was never to have a part. Curiously enough he found in senior year that he had acquired a position in his class. He learned that he was looked upon as a rather romantic figure, a scholar, a recluse, a tower of erudition. This amused him but secretly pleased him—he began going out, at first a little and then a great deal. He made the Pudding. He drank—quietly and in the proper tradition. It was said of him that had he not come to college so young he might have "done extremely well." In 1909, when he graduated, he was only twenty years old. Then abroad again—to Rome this time, where he dallied with architecture and painting in turn, took up the violin, and wrote some ghastly Italian sonnets, supposedly the ruminations of a thirteenth-century monk on the joys of the contemplative life. It became established among his Harvard intimates that he was in Rome, and those of them who were abroad that year looked him up and discovered with him, on many moonlight excursions, much in the city that was older than the Renaissance or indeed than the republic. Maury Noble, from Philadelphia, for instance, remained two months, and together they realized the peculiar charm of Latin women and had a delightful sense of being very young and free in a civilization that was very old and free. Not a few acquaintances of his grandfather's called on him, and had he so desired he might have been persona grata with the diplomatic set—indeed, he found that his inclinations tended more and more toward conviviality, but that long adolescent aloofness and consequent shyness still dictated to his conduct. He returned to America in 1912 because of one of his grandfather's sudden illnesses, and after an excessively tiresome talk with the perpetually convalescent old man he decided to put off until his grandfather's death the idea of living permanently abroad. After a prolonged search he took an apartment on Fifty-second Street and to all appearances settled down. In 1913 Anthony Patch's adjustment of himself to the universe was in process of consummation. Physically, he had improved since his undergraduate days—he was still too thin but his shoulders had widened and his brunette face had lost the frightened look of his freshman year. He was secretly orderly and in person spick and span—his friends declared that they had never seen his hair rumpled. His nose was too sharp; his mouth was one of those unfortunate mirrors of mood inclined to droop perceptibly in moments of unhappiness, but his blue eyes were charming, whether alert with intelligence or half closed in an expression of melancholy humor. One of those men devoid of the symmetry of feature essential to the Aryan ideal, he was yet, here and there, considered handsome—moreover, he was very clean, in appearance and in reality, with that especial cleanness borrowed from beauty. THE REPROACHLESS APARTMENT Fifth and Sixth Avenues, it seemed to Anthony, were the uprights of a gigantic ladder stretching from Washington Square to Central Park. Coming up-town on top of a bus toward Fifty-second Street invariably gave him the sensation of hoisting himself hand by hand on a series of treacherous rungs, and when the bus jolted to a stop at his own rung he found something akin to relief as he descended the reckless metal steps to the sidewalk. bus city urban road affect haptic metaphor driving passenger After that, he had but to walk down Fifty-second Street half a block, pass a stodgy family of brownstone houses—and then in a jiffy he was under the high ceilings of his great front room. This was entirely satisfactory. Here, after all, life began. Here he slept, breakfasted, read, and entertained. The house itself was of murky material, built in the late nineties; in response to the steadily growing need of small apartments each floor had been thoroughly remodelled and rented individually. Of the four apartments Anthony's, on the second floor, was the most desirable. The front room had fine high ceilings and three large windows that loomed down pleasantly upon Fifty-second Street. In its appointments it escaped by a safe margin being of any particular period; it escaped stiffness, stuffiness, bareness, and decadence. It smelt neither of smoke nor of incense—it was tall and faintly blue. There was a deep lounge of the softest brown leather with somnolence drifting about it like a haze. There was a high screen of Chinese lacquer chiefly concerned with geometrical fishermen and huntsmen in black and gold; this made a corner alcove for a voluminous chair guarded by an orange-colored standing lamp. Deep in the fireplace a quartered shield was burned to a murky black. Passing through the dining-room, which, as Anthony took only breakfast at home, was merely a magnificent potentiality, and down a comparatively long hall, one came to the heart and core of the apartment—Anthony's bedroom and bath. Both of them were immense. Under the ceilings of the former even the great canopied bed seemed of only average size. On the floor an exotic rug of crimson velvet was soft as fleece on his bare feet. His bathroom, in contrast to the rather portentous character of his bedroom, was gay, bright, extremely habitable and even faintly facetious. Framed around the walls were photographs of four celebrated thespian beauties of the day: Julia Sanderson as "The Sunshine Girl," Ina Claire as "The Quaker Girl," Billie Burke as "The Mind-the-Paint Girl," and Hazel Dawn as "The Pink Lady." Between Billie Burke and Hazel Dawn hung a print representing a great stretch of snow presided over by a cold and formidable sun—this, claimed Anthony, symbolized the cold shower. The bathtub, equipped with an ingenious bookholder, was low and large. Beside it a wall wardrobe bulged with sufficient linen for three men and with a generation of neckties. There was no skimpy glorified towel of a carpet—instead, a rich rug, like the one in his bedroom a miracle of softness, that seemed almost to massage the wet foot emerging from the tub. . . . All in all a room to conjure with—it was easy to see that Anthony dressed there, arranged his immaculate hair there, in fact did everything but sleep and eat there. It was his pride, this bathroom. He felt that if he had a love he would have hung her picture just facing the tub so that, lost in the soothing steamings of the hot water, he might lie and look up at her and muse warmly and sensuously on her beauty. NOR DOES HE SPIN The apartment was kept clean by an English servant with the singularly, almost theatrically, appropriate name of Bounds, whose technic was marred only by the fact that he wore a soft collar. Had he been entirely Anthony's Bounds this defect would have been summarily remedied, but he was also the Bounds of two other gentlemen in the neighborhood. From eight until eleven in the morning he was entirely Anthony's. He arrived with the mail and cooked breakfast. At nine-thirty he pulled the edge of Anthony's blanket and spoke a few terse words—Anthony never remembered clearly what they were and rather suspected they were deprecative; then he served breakfast on a card-table in the front room, made the bed and, after asking with some hostility if there was anything else, withdrew. In the mornings, at least once a week, Anthony went to see his broker. His income was slightly under seven thousand a year, the interest on money inherited from his mother. His grandfather, who had never allowed his own son to graduate from a very liberal allowance, judged that this sum was sufficient for young Anthony's needs. Every Christmas he sent him a five-hundred-dollar bond, which Anthony usually sold, if possible, as he was always a little, not very, hard up. The visits to his broker varied from semi-social chats to discussions of the safety of eight per cent investments, and Anthony always enjoyed them. The big trust company building seemed to link him definitely to the great fortunes whose solidarity he respected and to assure him that he was adequately chaperoned by the hierarchy of finance. From these hurried men he derived the same sense of safety that he had in contemplating his grandfather's money—even more, for the latter appeared, vaguely, a demand loan made by the world to Adam Patch's own moral righteousness, while this money down-town seemed rather to have been grasped and held by sheer indomitable strengths and tremendous feats of will; in addition, it seemed more definitely and explicitly—money. Closely as Anthony trod on the heels of his income, he considered it to be enough. Some golden day, of course, he would have many millions; meanwhile he possessed a raison d'être in the theoretical creation of essays on the popes of the Renaissance. This flashes back to the conversation with his grandfather immediately upon his return from Rome. He had hoped to find his grandfather dead, but had learned by telephoning from the pier that Adam Patch was comparatively well again—the next day he had concealed his disappointment and gone out to Tarrytown. Five miles from the station his taxicab entered an elaborately groomed drive that threaded a veritable maze of walls and wire fences guarding the estate—this, said the public, was because it was definitely known that if the Socialists had their way, one of the first men they'd assassinate would be old Cross Patch. car driving road Anthony was late and the venerable philanthropist was awaiting him in a glass-walled sun parlor, where he was glancing through the morning papers for the second time. His secretary, Edward Shuttleworth—who before his regeneration had been gambler, saloon-keeper, and general reprobate—ushered Anthony into the room, exhibiting his redeemer and benefactor as though he were displaying a treasure of immense value. They shook hands gravely. "I'm awfully glad to hear you're better," Anthony said. The senior Patch, with an air of having seen his grandson only last week, pulled out his watch. "Train late?" he asked mildly. train It had irritated him to wait for Anthony. He was under the delusion not only that in his youth he had handled his practical affairs with the utmost scrupulousness, even to keeping every engagement on the dot, but also that this was the direct and primary cause of his success. "It's been late a good deal this month," he remarked with a shade of meek accusation in his voice—and then after a long sigh, "Sit down." Anthony surveyed his grandfather with that tacit amazement which always attended the sight. That this feeble, unintelligent old man was possessed of such power that, yellow journals to the contrary, the men in the republic whose souls he could not have bought directly or indirectly would scarcely have populated White Plains, seemed as impossible to believe as that he had once been a pink-and-white baby. The span of his seventy-five years had acted as a magic bellows—the first quarter-century had blown him full with life, and the last had sucked it all back. It had sucked in the cheeks and the chest and the girth of arm and leg. It had tyrannously demanded his teeth, one by one, suspended his small eyes in dark-bluish sacks, tweeked out his hairs, changed him from gray to white in some places, from pink to yellow in others—callously transposing his colors like a child trying over a paintbox. Then through his body and his soul it had attacked his brain. It had sent him night-sweats and tears and unfounded dreads. It had split his intense normality into credulity and suspicion. Out of the coarse material of his enthusiasm it had cut dozens of meek but petulant obsessions; his energy was shrunk to the bad temper of a spoiled child, and for his will to power was substituted a fatuous puerile desire for a land of harps and canticles on earth. The amenities having been gingerly touched upon, Anthony felt that he was expected to outline his intentions—and simultaneously a glimmer in the old man's eye warned him against broaching, for the present, his desire to live abroad. He wished that Shuttleworth would have tact enough to leave the room—he detested Shuttleworth—but the secretary had settled blandly in a rocker and was dividing between the two Patches the glances of his faded eyes. "Now that you're here you ought to do something," said his grandfather softly, "accomplish something." Anthony waited for him to speak of "leaving something done when you pass on." Then he made a suggestion: "I thought—it seemed to me that perhaps I'm best qualified to write—" Adam Patch winced, visualizing a family poet with a long hair and three mistresses. "—history," finished Anthony. "History? History of what? The Civil War? The Revolution?" "Why—no, sir. A history of the Middle Ages." Simultaneously an idea was born for a history of the Renaissance popes, written from some novel angle. Still, he was glad he had said "Middle Ages." "Middle Ages? Why not your own country? Something you know about?" "Well, you see I've lived so much abroad—" "Why you should write about the Middle Ages, I don't know. Dark Ages, we used to call 'em. Nobody knows what happened, and nobody cares, except that they're over now." He continued for some minutes on the uselessness of such information, touching, naturally, on the Spanish Inquisition and the "corruption of the monasteries." Then: "Do you think you'll be able to do any work in New York—or do you really intend to work at all?" This last with soft, almost imperceptible, cynicism. "Why, yes, I do, sir." "When'll you be done?" "Well, there'll be an outline, you see—and a lot of preliminary reading." "I should think you'd have done enough of that already." The conversation worked itself jerkily toward a rather abrupt conclusion, when Anthony rose, looked at his watch, and remarked that he had an engagement with his broker that afternoon. He had intended to stay a few days with his grandfather, but he was tired and irritated from a rough crossing, and quite unwilling to stand a subtle and sanctimonious browbeating. He would come out again in a few days, he said. Nevertheless, it was due to this encounter that work had come into his life as a permanent idea. During the year that had passed since then, he had made several lists of authorities, he had even experimented with chapter titles and the division of his work into periods, but not one line of actual writing existed at present, or seemed likely ever to exist. He did nothing—and contrary to the most accredited copy-book logic, he managed to divert himself with more than average content. AFTERNOON It was October in 1913, midway in a week of pleasant days, with the sunshine loitering in the cross-streets and the atmosphere so languid as to seem weighted with ghostly falling leaves. It was pleasant to sit lazily by the open window finishing a chapter of "Erewhon." It was pleasant to yawn about five, toss the book on a table, and saunter humming along the hall to his bath. "To . . . you . . . beaut-if-ul lady," he was singing as he turned on the tap. "I raise . . . my . . . eyes; To . . . you . . . beaut-if-ul la-a-dy My . . . heart . . . cries—" He raised his voice to compete with the flood of water pouring into the tub, and as he looked at the picture of Hazel Dawn upon the wall he put an imaginary violin to his shoulder and softly caressed it with a phantom bow. Through his closed lips he made a humming noise, which he vaguely imagined resembled the sound of a violin. After a moment his hands ceased their gyrations and wandered to his shirt, which he began to unfasten. Stripped, and adopting an athletic posture like the tiger-skin man in the advertisement, he regarded himself with some satisfaction in the mirror, breaking off to dabble a tentative foot in the tub. Readjusting a faucet and indulging in a few preliminary grunts, he slid in. Once accustomed to the temperature of the water he relaxed into a state of drowsy content. When he finished his bath he would dress leisurely and walk down Fifth Avenue to the Ritz, where he had an appointment for dinner with his two most frequent companions, Dick Caramel and Maury Noble. Afterward he and Maury were going to the theatre—Caramel would probably trot home and work on his book, which ought to be finished pretty soon. Anthony was glad he wasn't going to work on his book. The notion of sitting down and conjuring up, not only words in which to clothe thoughts but thoughts worthy of being clothed—the whole thing was absurdly beyond his desires. Emerging from his bath he polished himself with the meticulous attention of a bootblack. Then he wandered into the bedroom, and whistling the while a weird, uncertain melody, strolled here and there buttoning, adjusting, and enjoying the warmth of the thick carpet on his feet. He lit a cigarette, tossed the match out the open top of the window, then paused in his tracks with the cigarette two inches from his mouth—which fell faintly ajar. His eyes were focused upon a spot of brilliant color on the roof of a house farther down the alley. It was a girl in a red negligé, silk surely, drying her hair by the still hot sun of late afternoon. His whistle died upon the stiff air of the room; he walked cautiously another step nearer the window with a sudden impression that she was beautiful. Sitting on the stone parapet beside her was a cushion the same color as her garment and she was leaning both arms upon it as she looked down into the sunny areaway, where Anthony could hear children playing. He watched her for several minutes. Something was stirred in him, something not accounted for by the warm smell of the afternoon or the triumphant vividness of red. He felt persistently that the girl was beautiful—then of a sudden he understood: it was her distance, not a rare and precious distance of soul but still distance, if only in terrestrial yards. The autumn air was between them, and the roofs and the blurred voices. Yet for a not altogether explained second, posing perversely in time, his emotion had been nearer to adoration than in the deepest kiss he had ever known. He finished his dressing, found a black bow tie and adjusted it carefully by the three-sided mirror in the bathroom. Then yielding to an impulse he walked quickly into the bedroom and again looked out the window. The woman was standing up now; she had tossed her hair back and he had a full view of her. She was fat, full thirty-five, utterly undistinguished. Making a clicking noise with his mouth he returned to the bathroom and reparted his hair. "To . . . you . . . beaut-if-ul lady," he sang lightly, "I raise . . . my . . . eyes—" Then with a last soothing brush that left an iridescent surface of sheer gloss he left his bathroom and his apartment and walked down Fifth Avenue to the Ritz-Carlton. THREE MEN At seven Anthony and his friend Maury Noble are sitting at a corner table on the cool roof. Maury Noble is like nothing so much as a large slender and imposing cat. His eyes are narrow and full of incessant, protracted blinks. His hair is smooth and flat, as though it has been licked by a possible—and, if so, Herculean—mother-cat. During Anthony's time at Harvard he had been considered the most unique figure in his class, the most brilliant, the most original—smart, quiet and among the saved. This is the man whom Anthony considers his best friend. This is the only man of all his acquaintance whom he admires and, to a bigger extent than he likes to admit to himself, envies. They are glad to see each other now—their eyes are full of kindness as each feels the full effect of novelty after a short separation. They are drawing a relaxation from each other's presence, a new serenity; Maury Noble behind that fine and absurdly catlike face is all but purring. And Anthony, nervous as a will-o'-the-wisp, restless—he is at rest now. They are engaged in one of those easy short-speech conversations that only men under thirty or men under great stress indulge in. ANTHONY: Seven o'clock. Where's the Caramel? ( Impatiently .) I wish he'd finish that interminable novel. I've spent more time hungry—— MAURY: He's got a new name for it. "The Demon Lover "—not bad, eh? ANTHONY: ( interested ) "The Demon Lover"? Oh "woman wailing"—No—not a bit bad! Not bad at all—d'you think? MAURY: Rather good. What time did you say? ANTHONY: Seven. MAURY: ( His eyes narrowing—not unpleasantly, but to express a faint disapproval ) Drove me crazy the other day. ANTHONY: How? MAURY: That habit of taking notes. ANTHONY: Me, too. Seems I'd said something night before that he considered material but he'd forgotten it—so he had at me. He'd say "Can't you try to concentrate?" And I'd say "You bore me to tears. How do I remember?" (MAURY laughs noiselessly, by a sort of bland and appreciative widening of his features .) MAURY: Dick doesn't necessarily see more than any one else. He merely can put down a larger proportion of what he sees. ANTHONY: That rather impressive talent—— MAURY: Oh, yes. Impressive! ANTHONY: And energy—ambitious, well-directed energy. He's so entertaining—he's so tremendously stimulating and exciting. Often there's something breathless in being with him. MAURY: Oh, yes. ( Silence, and then: ) ANTHONY: ( With his thin, somewhat uncertain face at its most convinced ) But not indomitable energy. Some day, bit by bit, it'll blow away, and his rather impressive talent with it, and leave only a wisp of a man, fretful and egotistic and garrulous. MAURY: ( With laughter ) Here we sit vowing to each other that little Dick sees less deeply into things than we do. And I'll bet he feels a measure of superiority on his side—creative mind over merely critical mind and all that. ANTHONY: Oh, yes. But he's wrong. He's inclined to fall for a million silly enthusiasms. If it wasn't that he's absorbed in realism and therefore has to adopt the garments of the cynic he'd be—he'd be credulous as a college religious leader. He's an idealist. Oh, yes. He thinks he's not, because he's rejected Christianity. Remember him in college? Just swallow every writer whole, one after another, ideas, technic, and characters, Chesterton, Shaw, Wells, each one as easily as the last. MAURY: ( Still considering his own last observation ) I remember. ANTHONY: It's true. Natural born fetich-worshipper. Take art— MAURY: Let's order. He'll be— ANTHONY: Sure. Let's order. I told him— MAURY: Here he comes. Look—he's going to bump that waiter. ( He lifts his finger as a signal—lifts it as though it were a soft and friendly claw .) Here y'are, Caramel. A NEW VOICE: ( Fiercely ) Hello, Maury. Hello, Anthony Comstock Patch. How is old Adam's grandson? Débutantes still after you, eh? In person RICHARD CARAMEL is short and fair—he is to be bald at thirty-five. He has yellowish eyes—one of them startlingly clear, the other opaque as a muddy pool—and a bulging brow like a funny-paper baby. He bulges in other places—his paunch bulges, prophetically, his words have an air of bulging from his mouth, even his dinner coat pockets bulge, as though from contamination, with a dog-eared collection of time-tables, programmes, and miscellaneous scraps—on these he takes his notes with great screwings up of his unmatched yellow eyes and motions of silence with his disengaged left hand . When he reaches the table he shakes hands with ANTHONY and MAURY. He is one of those men who invariably shake hands, even with people whom they have seen an hour before . ANTHONY: Hello, Caramel. Glad you're here. We needed a comic relief. MAURY: You're late. Been racing the postman down the block? We've been clawing over your character. DICK: ( Fixing ANTHONY eagerly with the bright eye ) What'd you say? Tell me and I'll write it down. Cut three thousand words out of Part One this afternoon. MAURY: Noble æsthete. And I poured alcohol into my stomach. DICK: I don't doubt it. I bet you two have been sitting here for an hour talking about liquor. ANTHONY: We never pass out, my beardless boy. MAURY: We never go home with ladies we meet when we're lit. ANTHONY: All in our parties are characterized by a certain haughty distinction. DICK: The particularly silly sort who boast about being "tanks"! Trouble is you're both in the eighteenth century. School of the Old English Squire. Drink quietly until you roll under the table. Never have a good time. Oh, no, that isn't done at all. ANTHONY: This from Chapter Six, I'll bet. DICK: Going to the theatre? MAURY: Yes. We intend to spend the evening doing some deep thinking over of life's problems. The thing is tersely called "The Woman." I presume that she will "pay." ANTHONY: My God! Is that what it is? Let's go to the Follies again. MAURY: I'm tired of it. I've seen it three times. ( To DICK.) The first time, we went out after Act One and found a most amazing bar. When we came back we entered the wrong theatre. ANTHONY: Had a protracted dispute with a scared young couple we thought were in our seats. DICK: ( As though talking to himself ) I think—that when I've done another novel and a play, and maybe a book of short stories, I'll do a musical comedy. MAURY: I know—with intellectual lyrics that no one will listen to. And all the critics will groan and grunt about "Dear old Pinafore." And I shall go on shining as a brilliantly meaningless figure in a meaningless world. DICK: ( Pompously ) Art isn't meaningless. MAURY: It is in itself. It isn't in that it tries to make life less so. ANTHONY: In other words, Dick, you're playing before a grand stand peopled with ghosts. MAURY: Give a good show anyhow. ANTHONY:( To MAURY) On the contrary, I'd feel that it being a meaningless world, why write? The very attempt to give it purpose is purposeless. DICK: Well, even admitting all that, be a decent pragmatist and grant a poor man the instinct to live. Would you want every one to accept that sophistic rot? ANTHONY: Yeah, I suppose so. MAURY: No, sir! I believe that every one in America but a selected thousand should be compelled to accept a very rigid system of morals—Roman Catholicism, for instance. I don't complain of conventional morality. I complain rather of the mediocre heretics who seize upon the findings of sophistication and adopt the pose of a moral freedom to which they are by no means entitled by their intelligences. ( Here the soup arrives and what MAURY might have gone on to say is lost for all time .) NIGHT Afterward they visited a ticket speculator and, at a price, obtained seats for a new musical comedy called "High Jinks." In the foyer of the theatre they waited a few moments to see the first-night crowd come in. There were opera cloaks stitched of myriad, many-colored silks and furs; there were jewels dripping from arms and throats and ear-tips of white and rose; there were innumerable broad shimmers down the middles of innumerable silk hats; there were shoes of gold and bronze and red and shining black; there were the high-piled, tight-packed coiffures of many women and the slick, watered hair of well-kept men—most of all there was the ebbing, flowing, chattering, chuckling, foaming, slow-rolling wave effect of this cheerful sea of people as to-night it poured its glittering torrent into the artificial lake of laughter. . . . After the play they parted—Maury was going to a dance at Sherry's, Anthony homeward and to bed. He found his way slowly over the jostled evening mass of Times Square, which the chariot race and its thousand satellites made rarely beautiful and bright and intimate with carnival. Faces swirled about him, a kaleidoscope of girls, ugly, ugly as sin—too fat, too lean, yet floating upon this autumn air as upon their own warm and passionate breaths poured out into the night. Here, for all their vulgarity, he thought, they were faintly and subtly mysterious. He inhaled carefully, swallowing into his lungs perfume and the not unpleasant scent of many cigarettes. He caught the glance of a dark young beauty sitting alone in a closed taxicab. Her eyes in the half-light suggested night and violets, and for a moment he stirred again to that half-forgotten remoteness of the afternoon. car Two young Jewish men passed him, talking in loud voices and craning their necks here and there in fatuous supercilious glances. They were dressed in suits of the exaggerated tightness then semi-fashionable; their turn-over collars were notched at the Adam's apple; they wore gray spats and carried gray gloves on their cane handles. Passed a bewildered old lady borne along like a basket of eggs between two men who exclaimed to her of the wonders of Times Square—explained them so quickly that the old lady, trying to be impartially interested, waved her head here and there like a piece of wind-worried old orange-peel. Anthony heard a snatch of their conversation: "There's the Astor, mama!" "Look! See the chariot race sign——" "There's where we were to-day. No, there! ”" "Good gracious! . . ." "You should worry and grow thin like a dime." He recognized the current witticism of the year as it issued stridently from one of the pairs at his elbow. "And I says to him, I says——" The soft rush of taxis by him, and laughter, laughter hoarse as a crow's, incessant and loud, with the rumble of the subways underneath—and over all, the revolutions of light, the growings and recedings of light—light dividing like pearls—forming and reforming in glittering bars and circles and monstrous grotesque figures cut amazingly on the sky. car haptic sound train affect He turned thankfully down the hush that blew like a dark wind out of a cross-street, passed a bakery-restaurant in whose windows a dozen roast chickens turned over and over on an automatic spit. From the door came a smell that was hot, doughy, and pink. A drug-store next, exhaling medicines, spilt soda water and a pleasant undertone from the cosmetic counter; then a Chinese laundry, still open, steamy and stifling, smelling folded and vaguely yellow. All these depressed him; reaching Sixth Avenue he stopped at a corner cigar store and emerged feeling better—the cigar store was cheerful, humanity in a navy blue mist, buying a luxury . . . . Once in his apartment he smoked a last cigarette, sitting in the dark by his open front window. For the first time in over a year he found himself thoroughly enjoying New York. There was a rare pungency in it certainly, a quality almost Southern. A lonesome town, though. He who had grown up alone had lately learned to avoid solitude. During the past several months he had been careful, when he had no engagement for the evening, to hurry to one of his clubs and find some one. Oh, there was a loneliness here—— His cigarette, its smoke bordering the thin folds of curtain with rims of faint white spray, glowed on until the clock in St. Anne's down the street struck one with a querulous fashionable beauty. The elevated, half a quiet block away, sounded a rumble of drums—and should he lean from his window he would see the train, like an angry eagle, breasting the dark curve at the corner. He was reminded of a fantastic romance he had lately read in which cities had been bombed from aerial trains, and for a moment he fancied that Washington Square had declared war on Central Park and that this was a north-bound menace loaded with battle and sudden death. But as it passed the illusion faded; it diminished to the faintest of drums—then to a far-away droning eagle. train There were the bells and the continued low blur of auto horns from Fifth Avenue, but his own street was silent and he was safe in here from all the threat of life, for there was his door and the long hall and his guardian bedroom—safe, safe! The arc-light shining into his window seemed for this hour like the moon, only brighter and more beautiful than the moon. sound car road risk safety affect A FLASH-BACK IN PARADISE Beauty, who was born anew every hundred years, sat in a sort of outdoor waiting room through which blew gusts of white wind and occasionally a breathless hurried star. The stars winked at her intimately as they went by and the winds made a soft incessant flurry in her hair. She was incomprehensible, for, in her, soul and spirit were one—the beauty of her body was the essence of her soul. She was that unity sought for by philosophers through many centuries. In this outdoor waiting room of winds and stars she had been sitting for a hundred years, at peace in the contemplation of herself . It became known to her, at length, that she was to be born again. Sighing, she began a long conversation with a voice that was in the white wind, a conversation that took many hours and of which I can give only a fragment here . BEAUTY: ( Her lips scarcely stirring, her eyes turned, as always, inward upon herself ) Whither shall I journey now? THE VOICE: To a new country—a land you have never seen before. BEAUTY: ( Petulantly ) I loathe breaking into these new civilizations. How long a stay this time? THE VOICE: Fifteen years. BEAUTY: And what's the name of the place? THE VOICE: It is the most opulent, most gorgeous land on earth—a land whose wisest are but little wiser than its dullest; a land where the rulers have minds like little children and the law-givers believe in Santa Claus; where ugly women control strong men—— BEAUTY: ( In astonishment ) What? THE VOICE: ( Very much depressed ) Yes, it is truly a melancholy spectacle. Women with receding chins and shapeless noses go about in broad daylight saying "Do this!" and "Do that!" and all the men, even those of great wealth, obey implicitly their women to whom they refer sonorously either as "Mrs. So-and-so" or as "the wife." BEAUTY: But this can't be true! I can understand, of course, their obedience to women of charm—but to fat women? to bony women? to women with scrawny cheeks? THE VOICE: Even so. BEAUTY: What of me? What chance shall I have? THE VOICE: It will be "harder going," if I may borrow a phrase. BEAUTY: ( After a dissatisfied pause ) Why not the old lands, the land of grapes and soft-tongued men or the land of ships and seas? THE VOICE: It's expected that they'll be very busy shortly. BEAUTY: Oh! THE VOICE: Your life on earth will be, as always, the interval between two significant glances in a mundane mirror. BEAUTY: What will I be? Tell me? THE VOICE: At first it was thought that you would go this time as an actress in the motion pictures but, after all, it's not advisable. You will be disguised during your fifteen years as what is called a "susciety gurl." BEAUTY: What's that? ( There is a new sound in the wind which must for our purposes be interpreted as THE VOICE scratching its head .) THE VOICE: ( At length ) It's a sort of bogus aristocrat. BEAUTY: Bogus? What is bogus? THE VOICE: That, too, you will discover in this land. You will find much that is bogus. Also, you will do much that is bogus. BEAUTY: ( Placidly ) It all sounds so vulgar. THE VOICE: Not half as vulgar as it is. You will be known during your fifteen years as a ragtime kid, a flapper, a jazz-baby, and a baby vamp. You will dance new dances neither more nor less gracefully than you danced the old ones. BEAUTY: ( In a whisper ) Will I be paid? THE VOICE: Yes, as usual—in love. BEAUTY: ( With a faint laugh which disturbs only momentarily the immobility of her lips ) And will I like being called a jazz-baby? THE VOICE: ( Soberly ) You will love it. . . . ( The dialogue ends here, with BEAUTY still sitting quietly, the stars pausing in an ecstasy of appreciation, the wind, white and gusty, blowing through her hair . All this took place seven years before ANTHONY sat by the front windows of his apartment and listened to the chimes of St. Anne's .) +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Frost, Robert Genre Poetry Journal or Book New Hampshire Publisher Henry Holt Year of Publication 1923 Pages 110-111 Additional information - IT snowed in spring on earth so dry and warm The flakes could find no landing place to form. Hordes spent themselves to make it wet and cold, And still they failed of any lasting hold. They made no white impression on the black. They disappeared as if earth sent them back. Not till from separate flakes they changed at night To almost strips and tapes of ragged white Did grass and garden ground confess it snowed, And all go back to winter but the road. Next day the scene was piled and puffed and dead. The grass lay flattened under one great tread. Borne down until the end almost took root, The rangey bough anticipated fruit With snowballs cupped in every opening bud. The road alone maintained itself in mud, Whatever its secret was of greater heat From inward fires or brush of passing feet. infrastructure plant snow temperature mud personification road scenery spring weather winter In spring more mortal singers than belong To any one place cover us with song. Thrush, bluebird, blackbird, sparrow, and robin throng; Some to go further north to Hudson's Bay, Some that have come too far north back away, Really a very few to build and stay. Now was seen how these liked belated snow. The fields had nowhere left for them to go; They'd soon exhausted all there was in flying; The trees they'd had enough of with once trying And setting off their heavy powder load. They could find nothing open but the road. So there they let their lives be narrowed in By thousands the bad weather made akin. The road became a channel running flocks Of glossy birds like ripples over rocks. I drove them under foot in bits of flight That kept the ground, almost disputing right Of way with me from apathy of wing, A talking twitter all they had to sing. A few I must have driven to despair Made quick asides, but having done in air A whir among white branches great and small As in some too much carven marble hall Where one false wing beat would have brought down all, Came tamely back in front of me, the Drover, To suffer the same driven nightmare over. One such storm in a lifetime couldn't teach them That back behind pursuit it couldn't reach them; None flew behind me to be left alone. air animal affect risk road safety driver driving skill metaphor spring tree weather Well, something for a snowstorm to have shown The country's singing strength thus brought together, That though repressed and moody with the weather Was none the less there ready to be freed And sing the wildflowers up from root and seed. weathert and seed. weather +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Frost, Robert Genre Poetry Journal or Book Selected Poems Publisher Henry Holt and Company Year of Publication 1920 Pages 132-135 Additional information - Brown lived at such a lofty farm That everyone for miles could see His lantern when he did his chores In winter after half-past three. And many must have seen him make His wild descent from there one night, ’Cross lots, ’cross walls, ’cross everything, Describing rings of lantern light. Between the house and barn the gale Got him by something he had on And blew him out on the icy crust That cased the world, and he was gone! Walls were all buried, trees were few: He saw no stay unless he stove A hole in somewhere with his heel. But though repeatedly he strove And stamped and said things to himself, And sometimes something seemed to yield, He gained no foothold, but pursued His journey down from field to field. Sometimes he came with arms outspread Like wings, revolving in the scene Upon his longer axis, and With no small dignity of mien. Faster or slower as he chanced, Sitting or standing as he chose, According as he feared to risk His neck, or thought to spare his clothes, He never let the lantern drop. And some exclaimed who saw afar The figures he described with it, “I wonder what those signals are Brown makes at such an hour of night! He’s celebrating something strange. I wonder if he’s sold his farm, Or been made Master of the Grange.” He reeled, he lurched, he bobbed, he checked; He fell and made the lantern rattle (But saved the light from going out.) So half-way down he fought the battle Incredulous of his own bad luck. And then becoming reconciled To everything, he gave it up And came down like a coasting child. “Well—I—be——” that was all he said, As standing in the river road, He looked back up the slippery slope (Two miles it was) to his abode. road roadside river road condition risk safety Sometimes as an authority On motor-cars, I’m asked if I Should say our stock was petered out, And this is my sincere reply: car Yankees are what they always were. Don’t think Brown ever gave up hope Of getting home again because He couldn’t climb that slippery slope; car metaphor Or even thought of standing there Until the January thaw Should take the polish off the crust. He bowed with grace to natural law, And then went round it on his feet, After the manner of our stock; Not much concerned for those to whom, At that particular time o’clock, It must have looked as if the course He steered was really straight away From that which he was headed for— Not much concerned for them, I say. road navigation car driving driving skill But now he snapped his eyes three times; Then shook his lantern, saying, “Ile’s ’Bout out!” and took the long way home By road, a matter of several miles. road affect navigation +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Frost, Robert Genre Poetry Journal or Book - Publisher - Year of Publication 1914 Pages 118-126 Additional information - Lancaster bore him—such a little town, Such a great man. It doesn’t see him often Of late years, though he keeps the old homestead And sends the children down there with their mother To run wild in the summer—a little wild. Sometimes he joins them for a day or two And sees old friends he somehow can’t get near. They meet him in the general store at night, Preoccupied with formidable mail, Rifling a printed letter as he talks. They seem afraid. He wouldn’t have it so: Though a great scholar, he’s a democrat, If not at heart, at least on principle. Lately when coming up to Lancaster His train being late he missed another train And had four hours to wait at Woodsville Junction After eleven o’clock at night. Too tired To think of sitting such an ordeal out, He turned to the hotel to find a bed. town urban train night “No room,” the night clerk said. “Unless——” Woodsville’s a place of shrieks and wandering lamps And cars that shock and rattle—and one hotel. car night sound “You say ‘unless.’“ “Unless you wouldn’t mind Sharing a room with someone else.” “Who is it?” “A man.” “So I should hope. What kind of man?” “I know him: he’s all right. A man’s a man. Separate beds of course you understand.” The night clerk blinked his eyes and dared him on. “Who’s that man sleeping in the office chair? Has he had the refusal of my chance?” “He was afraid of being robbed or murdered. What do you say?” “I’ll have to have a bed.” The night clerk led him up three flights of stairs And down a narrow passage full of doors, At the last one of which he knocked and entered. “Lafe, here’s a fellow wants to share your room.” “Show him this way. I’m not afraid of him, I’m not so drunk I can’t take care of myself.” The night clerk clapped a bedstead on the foot. “This will be yours. Good-night,” he said, and went. “Lafe was the name, I think?” “Yes, Layfayette. You got it the first time. And yours?” “Magoon. Doctor Magoon.” “A Doctor?” “Well, a teacher.” “Professor Square-the-circle-till-you’re-tired? Hold on, there’s something I don’t think of now That I had on my mind to ask the first Man that knew anything I happened in with. I’ll ask you later—don’t let me forget it.” The Doctor looked at Lafe and looked away. A man? A brute. Naked above the waist, He sat there creased and shining in the light, Fumbling the buttons in a well-starched shirt. “I’m moving into a size-larger shirt. I’ve felt mean lately; mean’s no name for it. I just found what the matter was to-night: I’ve been a-choking like a nursery tree When it outgrows the wire band of its name tag. I blamed it on the hot spell we’ve been having. ’Twas nothing but my foolish hanging back, Not liking to own up I’d grown a size. Number eighteen this is. What size do you wear?” The Doctor caught his throat convulsively. “Oh—ah—fourteen—fourteen.” “Fourteen! You say so! I can remember when I wore fourteen. And come to think I must have back at home More than a hundred collars, size fourteen. Too bad to waste them all. You ought to have them. They’re yours and welcome; let me send them to you. What makes you stand there on one leg like that? You’re not much furtherer than where Kike left you, You act as if you wished you hadn’t come. Sit down or lie down, friend; you make me nervous.” The Doctor made a subdued dash for it, And propped himself at bay against a pillow. “Not that way, with your shoes on Kike’s white bed. You can’t rest that way. Let me pull your shoes off.” “Don’t touch me, please—I say, don’t touch me, please. I’ll not be put to bed by you, my man.” “Just as you say. Have it your own way then. ‘My man’ is it? You talk like a professor. Speaking of who’s afraid of who, however, I’m thinking I have more to lose than you If anything should happen to be wrong. Who wants to cut your number fourteen throat! Let’s have a show down as an evidence Of good faith. There is ninety dollars. Come, if you’re not afraid.” “I’m not afraid. There’s five: that’s all I carry.” “I can search you? Where are you moving over to? Stay still. You’d better tuck your money under you And sleep on it the way I always do When I’m with people I don’t trust at night.” “Will you believe me if I put it there Right on the counterpane—that I do trust you?” “You’d say so, Mister Man.—I’m a collector. My ninety isn’t mine—you won’t think that. I pick it up a dollar at a time All round the country for the Weekly News, Published in Bow. You know the Weekly News?” “Known it since I was young.” “Then you know me. Now we are getting on together—talking. I’m sort of Something for it at the front. My business is to find what people want: They pay for it, and so they ought to have it. Fairbanks, he says to me—he’s editor— Feel out the public sentiment—he says. A good deal comes on me when all is said. The only trouble is we disagree In politics: I’m Vermont Democrat— You know what that is, sort of double-dyed; The News has always been Republican. Fairbanks, he says to me, ‘Help us this year,’ Meaning by us their ticket. ‘No,’ I says, ‘I can’t and won’t. You’ve been in long enough: It’s time you turned around and boosted us. You’ll have to pay me more than ten a week If I’m expected to elect Bill Taft. I doubt if I could do it anyway.’“ “You seem to shape the paper’s policy.” “You see I’m in with everybody, know ’em all. I almost know their farms as well as they do.” “You drive around? It must be pleasant work.” driving affect pleasure “It’s business, but I can’t say it’s not fun. What I like best’s the lay of different farms, Coming out on them from a stretch of woods, Or over a hill or round a sudden corner. I like to find folks getting out in spring, Raking the dooryard, working near the house. Later they get out further in the fields. Everything’s shut sometimes except the barn; The family’s all away in some back meadow. There’s a hay load a-coming—when it comes. And later still they all get driven in: The fields are stripped to lawn, the garden patches Stripped to bare ground, the apple trees To whips and poles. There’s nobody about. The chimney, though, keeps up a good brisk smoking. And I lie back and ride. I take the reins Only when someone’s coming, and the mare Stops when she likes: I tell her when to go. I’ve spoiled Jemima in more ways than one. She’s got so she turns in at every house As if she had some sort of curvature, No matter if I have no errand there. She thinks I’m sociable. I maybe am. It’s seldom I get down except for meals, though. Folks entertain me from the kitchen doorstep, All in a family row down to the youngest.” “One would suppose they might not be as glad To see you as you are to see them.” “Oh, Because I want their dollar. I don’t want Anything they’ve not got. I never dun. I’m there, and they can pay me if they like. I go nowhere on purpose: I happen by. Sorry there is no cup to give you a drink. I drink out of the bottle—not your style. Mayn’t I offer you——?” “No, no, no, thank you.” “Just as you say. Here’s looking at you then.— And now I’m leaving you a little while. You’ll rest easier when I’m gone, perhaps— Lie down—let yourself go and get some sleep. But first—let’s see—what was I going to ask you? Those collars—who shall I address them to, Suppose you aren’t awake when I come back?” “Really, friend, I can’t let you. You—may need them.” “Not till I shrink, when they’ll be out of style.” “But really I—I have so many collars.” “I don’t know who I rather would have have them. They’re only turning yellow where they are. But you’re the doctor as the saying is. I’ll put the light out. Don’t you wait for me: I’ve just begun the night. You get some sleep. I’ll knock so-fashion and peep round the door When I come back so you’ll know who it is. There’s nothing I’m afraid of like scared people. I don’t want you should shoot me in the head. What am I doing carrying off this bottle? There now, you get some sleep.” He shut the door. The Doctor slid a little down the pillow. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Hughes, Langston Genre Poetry Journal or Book Langston Hughes: Poems Publisher Alfred A. Knopf Inc. Year of Publication 1927 Pages 158-159 Additional information - infrastructure class Hey, Buddy! Look at me! I'm makin' a road For the cars to fly by on, Makin' a road Through the palmetto thicket For light and civilization To travel on. construction road speed metaphor I'm makin' a road For the rich to sweep over In their big cars And leave me standin' here. construction car road Sure, A road helps everybody. Rich folks ride — And I get to see 'em ride. I ain't never seen nobody Ride so fine before. driving road Hey, Buddy, look! I'm makin' a road!ey, Buddy, look! I'm makin' a road! +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Hughes, Langston Genre Poetry Journal or Book The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes Publisher Vintage Classics Year of Publication pre 1930 Pages 120 Additional information - Albert! Hey, Albert! Don't you play in dat road. You see dem trucks A-goin' by. One run ovah you An' you die. Albert, don't you play in dat road. road car truck accident death risk trafficcar truck accident death risk traffic +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Jamison, Roscoe C. Genre Poetry Journal or Book Negro Soldiers (“These Truly are the Brave”) and other poems by Roscoe C. Jamison Publisher Press of the Gray Printing Company Year of Publication 1918 Pages - Additional information - metaphor metaphysics death Along the Road of Human Life, So very near, on either side, With winds and storms and billows rife, There is a sea that's wide; And woe to him who trips and falls Into that darkening tide. road metaphor affect death Oh! it is all that Hope can do To keep lifted our eyes And day by day our strength renew With visions and dream-lies; To lead us by that awful flood From which no soul may rise. affect Despair! Despair! That is the sea Which ever is at our feet, Seeks to envelop you and me, In ruin full, complete, Cause us to deem this life a curse And make death's name sound sweet. affect coast death Work, Laugh and Love! Thus only can The trembling spirit hold, Its journey true across the span Of years that doth unfold, Amid earth's barren scenery Until life's tale is told! affect scenery! affect scenery +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Josephson, Matthew Genre Poetry Journal or Book Merz6 Imitatoren , watch step! / Arp1: Propaganda und Arp Publisher Merz Verlag Year of Publication 1923 Pages 62 Additional information The poem was simultaneously published in a German and an American journal. With the brain at the wheel The eye on the road And the hand to the left Pleasant be your progress Explorer producer stoic after your fashion Change Change to To what speed to what underwear Here is a town here a mill Nothing surprizes you old horseface Guzzle guzzle goes the siren And the world will learn to admire and applaud your concern with the parts your firmness with employees and your justice to your friends. Your pride will not be overridden Your faith will go unmortified. car part vision haptic sound metaphor driving road affect pleasure speed urban ruraload affect pleasure speed urban rural +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Lavell, Edith Genre Fiction Journal or Book The Girl Scouts‘ Motor Trip Publisher A. L. Burt Company Year of Publication 1924 Pages Chapters 1-3 Additional information - Chapter 1 - A Challenge [ edit ] Marjorie Wilkinson and Lily Andrews sauntered down the hall of the dormitory towards their rooms, humming tunes and dragging their hockey sticks along the floor behind them. They were enjoying a particularly jubilant mood, for their team had just been victorious; the sophomores of Turner College had succeeded in defeating the juniors in a closely contested game of hockey. And Marjorie and Lily both played on the team. As they paused at the door of their sitting-room, Florence Evans, a member of the old senior patrol of Pansy Troop of Girls Scouts, and now a freshman at college, came out to meet them. She had run in for news of the game, and finding the girls away, had decided to await their return. “Who won?” she demanded, without any ceremony. “We did!” announced Lily, triumphantly. “Naturally—with such a captain!” She nodded proudly towards Marjorie. “Congratulations!” cried Florence, seizing both girls by the hands and leading them back to the room. “Now—tell me all about it!” Marjorie had scarcely begun her account of the thrilling match when she was interrupted by the abrupt entrance of Alice Endicott, another freshman who had been a Girl Scout of the same troop, looking as if she carried the most startling news in the world. Naturally vivacious, her cheeks glowed and her eyes shone with even greater brilliancy than usual. The girls stopped talking instantly, aware that her excitement was not due to any event so ordinary as a hockey game. “Girls!” she flung out. “Guess what?” “What?” they all demanded at once. Alice waved an open letter before their eyes. “The most magnificent thing has happened—” “To you?” interrupted Florence, who always wanted to be explicit. “To us —all of us—of the senior patrol. A plan for this summer!” “The scouts aren’t to get together again, are they?” cried Marjorie, jumping up and going over towards Alice, as if she wanted at a single glance to learn the contents of that mysterious letter. “Have you found a baby, or only a boot-legger?” asked Lily, laughingly. “Because it’s too late to get our tea-house back again, after the money’s all spent!” “Neither of those things,” replied Alice. “Only a rich relation.” “Why the ‘only’?” inquired Florence. “I think that’s almost enough. But tell us about it. How does it concern us?” “Just wait till you hear!” laughed Alice, turning to her letter again. “Well, do let us hear!” begged Lily, impatiently. “We’re waiting.” Alice seated herself upon the couch and paused a moment before she started upon her explanation, as if to make the situation more dramatic. At last she began. “Of course you know our family are all in modest circumstances, but it seems that there is this one wealthy relative—an elderly, maiden aunt on my father’s side. I have never seen her, because she has lived in California during all of my life, but naturally I had heard of her before. She never took any interest in us, however, and always said she was going to leave all of her money to her two nephews whom she is raising. “Well, I hardly thought she knew of my existence, when suddenly, out of a clear sky, I got this letter from her with its thrilling proposition. She must have learned somewhere of the work we did last summer, and of our reason for doing it, and she was impressed. She evidently never knew any Girl Scouts before, or in fact any girls who were interested in anything so worth while as a sick mother or a tea-house. So, lo and behold, she writes to me and tells me she wants to make my acquaintance—and not only mine, but that of the whole patrol!” “But we can’t go out west, Alice!” interrupted Marjorie, jumping at her meaning. “We couldn’t possibly afford it.” “No,” added Florence, “I was thinking of looking for a job for the summer.” “Wait till you hear the rest of it!” said Alice. “We won’t need any money. Aunt Emeline is offering to pay all our expenses, if we motor to California !” “Motor!” repeated Marjorie. “We girls? By ourselves—?” driving West “No; we may, in fact, we must have a chaperone.” “It would be a wonderful thing to do!” exclaimed Florence, contrasting the pleasures of such a delightful excursion with the routine duties of an office position, such as she had planned for herself. “But is it possible?” “Why not?” demanded Alice. “Lots of girls have done it before—I’ve even read accounts of their trips in the magazines, telling all about what to take, and how much it costs.” “But they are always older girls than we are!” objected Lily. “Girl Scouts can do anything any other girls can do!” asserted Marjorie with pride. “I’m sure we could make the trip. Now, tell me again, please, Alice: just which of us are invited?” “All the girls who took part in last summer’s work at the tea-house,” replied Alice. “That means us four, Daisy Gravers, Ethel Todd, Marie Louise Harris—and—Doris and Mae if they want to.” “‘If they want to’ is good!” laughed Marjorie. “Imagine those two brides leaving their husbands for a two months’ trip!” “Of course you could hardly expect Mae to,” admitted Alice; “she’s quite too recent a bride. But Doris will have been married a year.” “But she and Roger are just as spoony as ever!” interrupted Lily. “No, I’m afraid we can’t count on them. But the other three girls probably will.” “To continue,” said Alice: “you know that I told you my aunt is queer—a little ‘off’ we always considered her. Well, she goes on to add that we must make the trip inside of six weeks, follow the Lincoln Highway, not spend more than a certain sum of money she is depositing in my name, and—the last is worst of all—” “What?” demanded two or three of the scouts at once. “We are not to accept help of any men along the way!” The girls all burst out laughing immediately at the absurdity of such a suggestion. Yet there was not one among them who doubted that she could fulfill the conditions. “And what happens if we do take assistance?” asked Florence, when the merriment had subsided. “Do we have to pay for our own trip?” “No, but the guilty girls have to go home,” replied Alice. “Can’t you just see us dropping one by one ‘by the wayside’” remarked Lily, “because we accept masculine chivalry. Really, it will be hard—” “Oh, we can do it!” said Marjorie, with her usual assurance. She put down her hockey stick and went over to the tea-table to make tea. The subject was too interesting to allow her guests to depart. highway infrastructure “Tell us more,” urged Florence. “The best is yet to come,” said Alice, her eyes sparkling with pleasure, because of the further revelation she was about to make. “There is a reward at the end!” “A reward!” repeated Marjorie. “As if the trip itself weren’t enough—” “Yes, this is the marvelous part. If we fulfill all the conditions, and reach Aunt Emeline’s house by midnight of August first, each girl is to receive a brand-new runabout, for her very own!” “What? What?” demanded all the girls at the same time, unable to believe their ears. “Shall we accept the offer?” continued Alice. “Shall we?” cried Florence. “As if there were any doubt!” She jumped up and gave Alice an ecstatic little squeeze. The other girls were just as enthusiastic, and they discussed the affair from every angle, while they drank Marjorie’s tea and nibbled at some nabiscoes which Lily produced from her cake box. When they came to the selection of a chaperone, they were all unanimous in their desire to have Mrs. Remington. “But would she leave her husband for such a long time?” asked Lily, doubtfully. “It wouldn’t be a question of leaving him,” answered Marjorie. “Because he has to go to some sort of Boy Scout camp this summer for the months of July and August—she told me about it in her last letter. So she might be very glad of the invitation.” “Then that settles that,” said Alice. “Marj, will you write immediately?” “I certainly will, and I’ll write home for permission for myself at the same time.” “Marj!” exclaimed Lily, suddenly. “What about the Hadleys? Didn’t you promise that you’d go to the seashore—?” Marjorie blushed, remembering the time she had told John Hadley that she would spend her vacation with him and his mother, and had disappointed him to go on the ranch. Luckily, however, no definite plans had been agreed upon as yet for this summer. “No, thank goodness I didn’t promise,” she replied. “But,” she added teasingly, “how can you ever exist all that time without seeing Dick Roberts?” Her room-mate only laughed good-naturedly at the thrust; she was used to being taunted about the frequency of this young man’s visits. “I can get along very well without any young man,” she replied, boastfully. “I’m not Doris—or Mae Van Horn!” “Mae Melville, you mean,” corrected Alice, for they all had difficulty in calling the girl by her new name, of which she had been in possession only a month. “Wasn’t it funny,” she added, “that Mae caught Doris’s bouquet at the wedding, and sure enough was the first to get married! Just as if there were something to the old superstition after all!” “It was, and it wasn’t, odd,” reasoned Marjorie; “because after all it was very natural for Doris and Mae to be the first girls married from our patrol. They didn’t have so much to keep them occupied as we college girls have—and they had more time to think about such things.” “Implying,” remarked Florence, “that if you weren’t busy here, you’d be marrying John Hadley, and Lily, Dick Roberts, and—” “That will do, Flos!” remonstrated Marjorie. “You don’t have to apply every generalization personally. But, seriously, it is a fact that college girls usually marry later in life than those who just stay at home like Doris.” “But Mae didn’t stay home! She had a job.” “Now don’t let’s have an argument on a college girl’s chances versus those of a business woman!” protested Lily. “And by the way, wasn’t it too bad that we couldn’t any of us be at Mae’s wedding to see who would catch the bride’s bouquet! We won’t know who will be the next victim!” “Maybe we’ll all be old maids,” laughed Marjorie. “At any rate, I don’t think any of us will be running off soon, since we’re all six in college. And that reminds me, haven’t we four been mean to go on talking about this marvelous proposition, and not make any attempt to go get Daisy—” “I’ll go for her this instant!” volunteered Alice, jumping immediately to her feet. “It is a shame—” She was off in a moment, skipping down the hall like a happy child. It was not long before she returned with Daisy Gravers, another Girl Scout of the patrol, and the subject was discussed all over again with a thoroughness that omitted no details. The girls’ only regret was that Ethel Todd, a junior at Bryn Mawr, could not be present to hear all about it. “I’ll write to her,” said Alice. “Then, if we can all six go—and Mrs. Remington—” “And maybe Marie Louise,” put in Daisy. “We’ll need several cars,” concluded Lily, who always did things sumptuously. “Two ought to be enough,” said Florence. “But say, girls, why couldn’t we leave our planning until Doris’s house-party? Then we’ll all be together, and will know definitely whether or not we can go.” “But the boys will be such an interruption!” sighed Lily. “You can’t get a thing done with them around.” “Oh, we’ll shut them out of our conferences,” announced Marjorie, coolly. “We must accustom ourselves to getting along without the opposite sex if we are to make a success of our trip.” “And yet it is a pity,” remarked Alice, “after all they did for us last summer at the tea-house!” “Yes, maybe if it weren’t for them we wouldn’t have become famous and received this scrumptious invitation,” surmised Daisy. car “What I can’t understand,” mused Florence, who had been carefully considering every aspect of the offer, “is why your aunt should want us to make the trip independent of all masculine assistance. Especially when, as you say, Alice, she shows such preference for her two nephews.” “Oh, it’s just an idea of hers—a notion that she’s taken, I suppose,” replied Alice. “When you’re awfully rich and awfully old, you sometimes do crazy things just for the novelty of it.” “My, what a philosopher you are!” joked Florence. “You sound as if you had been both old and rich!” “My theory,” put in Marjorie, “is that it has something to do with the nephews. She has probably boasted of our work last summer, and perhaps the boys belittled it. So I think this might be a kind of wager.” “That sounds plausible!” exclaimed Lily. “Well, let’s do all in our power to make the old lady win.” “And yet,” interposed Florence, “she may be on the other side, hoping we don’t live up to the conditions. It would certainly be cheaper for her if we fell down—” “Girls, I think you’re all wrong,” said Daisy. “I think she is just a lovely old lady, who has read about our work, and wants to reward us. But she thinks we’ll appreciate our cars more if we earn them, and that’s the reason she put on all these conditions.” “Come, we’re not getting anywhere!” interrupted Florence, “and the time’s passing.” A glance at her watch assured her that the supper hour was imminent. “Meet here day after tomorrow,” suggested Marjorie, as the girls rose to take their leave; “and try to have your parents’ permission by then.” “We’ll have it!” cried two or three of the girls. “We wouldn’t miss this chance for the world!” Chapter 2 - Together Again [ edit ] Two weeks after Alice Endicott had received her startling invitation to visit her aunt at the latter’s expense, Doris Harris sat in the living-room of her cozy little Philadelphia house, awaiting the arrival of all the girls concerned. The party was to be a week-end one, half of the girls staying at her house, and half at the home of her sister-in-law, Marie Louise Harris, with whom they had lived during the preceding summer while conducting the tea-room. Doris looked about the attractively furnished room, with its shining white paint and snowy curtains, its delft blue hangings and upholstery, and smiled contentedly to herself. It would have been pleasant, she thought, to go to college, along with the majority of the girls of the senior patrol; but it could not have been nearly so wonderful as to be married to the best man in the world, and to possess such a dear little home of her own. And, after all, there would always be occasions like this when she could manage to be with the girls again. She heard a light step on the porch but she did not put down her fancy work to go to the door, for she recognized it as belonging to her sister-in-law. The girls were so intimate that neither considered stopping to ring the bell at the other’s home. A moment later Marie Louise opened the door. “Anybody here yet?” she asked, crossing the room to give Doris her customary kiss. “No, not yet,” replied her hostess. “I sort of expect that the five girls from Turner College will come together. But Ethel Todd will come by herself.” Marie Louise disappeared into the dining-room for a minute and returned carrying a vase of roses, which she had arranged most artistically in a wide blue china bowl. She set it down upon the table, hardly listening to Doris’s thanks for the flowers, so eager was she to talk of the latest development. “Tell me more about this new idea—is it Alice’s or Marjorie’s?—I haven’t got the gist of it yet. Ethel Todd called me up on the telephone, but the connection was so poor—” “I really don’t know myself,” replied Doris; “except that it is a trip of some sort, and Alice’s aunt is paying the expenses. None of the girls wrote to me in detail, because they all assumed that I couldn’t go.” “Well, you wouldn’t, would you?” “No, of course not,” replied Doris, laughingly. “I’d be too homesick. But how about you, Marie Louise?” “Unfortunately I’ve arranged to go on studying all summer. You know I spoke of some such plan—well, I had already made my arrangements before Ethel called me up. But I am crazy to see the girls and hear all about it.” She seated herself upon the wide window-sill so that she might catch the first sight of her friends when they arrived. But she did not have long to wait; in less than ten minutes Ethel Todd put in an appearance. Both girls jumped up joyfully and hurried to the door. “Aren’t the others here yet?” asked Ethel, as soon as the greetings had subsided. “No, not yet,” replied Doris. “But they won’t be long and they’re all coming together. Now—come on upstairs, Ethel, and put your hat and coat away, for I want you to stay here. You know,” she explained laughingly, “I have only room enough to put up three of the girls, so three will have to stay at Marie Louise’s.” She led the way up the mahogany and white staircase to the dainty little guest room at the rear of the second story, a boudoir such as any girl would love, furnished in cream-colored painted furniture, with pink floral decorations and pink and cream curtains at the windows. Ethel admired it profusely. “And did you work that bed-spread yourself?” she asked, examining closely the applique work in a flower design, upon unbleached muslin. “It’s simply too pretty to sleep on.” “Oh, it will wash!” laughed Doris. “Yes, I did make it myself. I love to do fancy-work.” Then, in the same breath, “Now tell us all about the trip. I’m tremendously interested.” “I’m afraid I don’t know a whole lot myself—just the bare facts that you know. But wait till Marj and Alice get here—they’ll tell us everything. By the way, is everybody coming?” “Everybody but Mae,” replied Doris. “You could hardly expect so recent a bride. In fact,” she added, “I didn’t even invite her. I knew it would be of no use.” “And she’s too far away-way out there in Ohio,” said Ethel. “I’m afraid we won’t see much of her any more.” They descended the staircase just in time to see, through the glass door, a taxi stop in front of the house. A moment later five merry, laughing girls jumped out of the machine and skipped up the porch steps. Marjorie Wilkinson, the last to enter the house on account of the delay in paying the driver, decided to make up for lost time, and seized Ethel, Doris, and Marie Louise all at once in one inclusive hug. taxi “We’re all here!” she cried, joyfully. “Together now—and together all summer! Isn’t it marvelous?” “Yes, if only Mae were here,” said Lily, who never could forget the absent members. “And if Doris and I could go with you,” sighed Marie Louise. “You can’t go?” asked Alice, her face clouding. “Oh, why not, Marie Louise? Are you going to get married too?” “No, indeed,” replied the other girl, laughingly. “But I am keeping on at art school this summer.” “What a shame!” cried several of the others at once. They were all genuinely fond of this girl who was the latest addition to their number. Without even removing their hats, the girls all dropped into chairs in the living-room and continued to talk fast and furiously about their proposed trip. It seemed that all of the college girls were planning to go; and Marjorie’s announcement of Mrs. Remington’s acceptance added another cause for rejoicing. Their only regret was that their two hostesses and Mae Melville could not go. “I honestly feel sorry for you married people!” teased Florence. “To think that you have to miss all the fun—” “But there are compensations,” Doris reminded her. “Maybe we feel sorry for you!” “Now Doris, we won’t stand for that!” retorted Alice. “And anyhow—” “Anyhow what?” demanded the other, as Alice paused in the middle of her remark. “Anyhow some of us may have gone over to your side by the time we come back. I expect some of the girls to fall for my cousins—” But Marjorie put an end to their bantering by a call to the practical. “That makes seven of us to go,” she said, using her fingers for the calculation. “I should think that two machines would really be enough.” “Yes,” answered Alice, “because we are to travel light. I forgot to tell you that one of my aunt’s stipulations is that we wear our Girl Scout uniforms all the time. We can express our trunks ahead, packed with the clothing we want to wear after we get to California.” “Then everybody will know we’re scouts?” asked Florence. “Yes; you don’t mind, do you?” “I’m proud of it!” replied the other, loyally. “If you take a big seven-passenger car,” said Lily, “wouldn’t it be possible to take my Rolls as a second? It really runs wonderfully.” “It would do beautifully,” answered Marjorie; and all the others approved her decision. “Do we camp along the way, or do we expect to stop at inns and hotels?” asked Ethel. “Both,” replied Alice. “You see we have to be a little bit economical because Aunt Emeline is only allowing us a certain amount for our trip; and if we spend any more, even though it is our own money, we forfeit our reward. So we must be rather thrifty.” car car model West “I think it’s more fun to camp, anyhow,” said Marjorie. “Imagine Girl Scouts running to hotels all along the way! Though it will be nice to stop every once in a while and get a real bath!” “Oh, you’ll have to go to a hotel in the big cities,” put in Doris, who took as much interest in the affair as if she were going herself. “The funniest thing is going to be refusing any help from men we happen to meet along the road,” remarked Daisy. “I’m afraid some of them may think we’re terribly rude.” “And suppose we get in such a tight place we simply can’t get out,” suggested Ethel. “What are we to do?” “Walk miles to a garage, or trust to some women tourists to give us a lift,” answered Marjorie, firmly. “Trust us! Girl Scouts don’t give up easily.” “But remember,” put in Daisy, who was still a little dubious as to the success of the undertaking, “that we always had our own Boy Scouts to help us before. And now we’ll be miles away!” she sighed regretfully. “We wouldn’t call on them if they were right behind us!” asserted Marjorie. “Oh, it’s going to be great fun—so much more than if we were all wealthy, and could just take the trip as we pleased, without any terms being dictated! It means that we’ve got one more chance to show what Girl Scouts can do!” car car model West “Well, your aunt certainly must be a queer one to think up all these conditions,” observed Doris. “Oh, she hasn’t much to do,” said Alice, “except to think about those two nephews who are her heirs. I guess we’ve given her a new interest.” “What does she look like?” asked Florence. “I don’t know; the only picture we have is one of those old-fashioned things in a family album. She was eighteen then, and looked thirty-eight. You know the kind that I mean. But I have always imagined that she resembled that fake lieutenant those boys we met on the train fixed up for our benefit the summer we went on the ranch.” “Speaking of boys,” interrupted Doris, “they will soon be here. And you girls won’t even have your hats off—let alone be dressed. Don’t you think we had better adjourn to our rooms, especially the girls who have to go over to Marie Louise’s?” “Right you are, Doris!” exclaimed all of her guests, hastening to carry out her suggestion. But if Doris thought that the presence of the boys at dinner that evening would put a damper upon the discussion of the project, she was mistaken. The boys, among whom were Jack Wilkinson, John Hadley, and Dick Roberts—all intimate friends of the girls—already knew something of the plans and showed their interest by a succession of questions. John and Dick both looked anything but pleased. “Why couldn’t you do something in Philadelphia?” asked Dick, sulkily. “We had such a bully time last summer!” “Why don’t you take a motor trip to the coast?” returned Florence. “Last year we came to you—this year you come with us! Turn about is fair play!” “Don’t suggest it!” protested Alice, alarmed at the very mention of such a thing. “We’d never earn our cars with the boys following in our trail.” “People!” exclaimed Marjorie, suddenly struck by an inspiration. “I know something fine! It has just occurred to me that Mae lives in a town on the Lincoln Highway—the way we will undoubtedly go to the coast. And she has urged us all to visit her—so couldn’t we stop on our way out, and maybe you boys join us for a week-end?” “Where does she live?” asked Jack, doubtfully. He was not sure of being able to get away from the office whenever he desired. “Lima—in Ohio,” replied Doris. “It isn’t awfully far.” “But would it be right for a big crowd like this to descend upon her all at once?” inquired Daisy. “Mae wouldn’t mind,” Doris hastened to assure her. “You know she has a rather large house—and two servants—for Tom Melville has plenty of this world’s goods. In fact, I think she may be a little lonely, and would be overjoyed to see you.” “Then that settles it!” cried Marjorie. “I’ll write tomorrow and invite ourselves.” “But how do you know when to set the date for?” asked Florence. “We’ll have to work it all out by mathematics,” replied the latter. “There’s a lot of planning to be done, and equipment to be bought. We’ll have to name a committee.” “I propose you as chairman,” said Lily, immediately. “Because you’re our lieutenant—and you can pick your own committee.” “I second that motion!” exclaimed Ethel. highway infrastructure West Just at this point Marjorie’s brother commenced to chuckle to himself, as if he were enjoying some private joke. “Tell us, Jack, so we can have some fun,” suggested Ethel. “Oh, it’s nothing!” replied Jack. “Only—well, I don’t want to be a kill-joy, or anything like that, you know; but I just couldn’t help but think how funny it would be if somebody were playing a practical joke on you all.” “What do you mean?” demanded Marjorie. “Why, suppose you went ahead and made all your plans and bought a lot of things, and then found out in the end that the letter was all a joke—” “You mean that you don’t believe that I have an Aunt Emeline?” interrupted Alice. “No, not that. With due respect to your aunt, you must admit it’s a mighty unusual proposal for her to make to a bunch of girls she never saw, no matter if she is as rich as all get out. The proposition’s wild enough, but the idea of her giving each girl a runabout as a reward if she wins through—that’s what gets me.” “Anyone rich enough and crazy enough to pay our expenses would be crazy enough to do anything,” said Alice. “And she probably doesn’t expect us to win,” put in Florence. “Well, I’d wait till I saw a check for those expenses, if I were you; then, if it turned out to be a joke, you wouldn’t be so much out of pocket. That’s what I mean!” “Silly! As if we haven’t thought of those things!” exclaimed his sister. “I’ve been pinching myself every day, expecting to wake up from a dream—until Alice wrote a letter saying we could go, and then received that check by return mail. Think up some other excuse to keep us home, Jackie; that one won’t work.” “You needn’t worry about the money, Jack,” explained Alice. “It’s safely deposited in bank to my account!” “Well, anyway,” Jack replied, “I object to this party’s being turned into a business meeting. Let’s forget it—and dance!” “Jack is right,” agreed Doris. Then, turning to her husband, “Put on a record, Roger, and let’s begin.” The remainder of the evening passed entirely to the boys’ satisfaction. Chapter 3 - Planning The Trip [ edit ] If talking about the summer’s excursion could have hastened the date of the event, the weeks would have passed in rapid succession, for the Girl Scouts never grew tired of discussing its every aspect. Whenever two or three of them were together the conversation drifted inevitably to this one all important topic; at other times, when lessons were put aside for the evening or a Sunday afternoon offered an opportunity for rest, the five scouts would gather together in Marjorie’s sitting-room to talk of their plans. Sometimes they would discuss the country through which they were to motor, and read descriptions from books about the scenery; at other times they would be concerned with the actual problems of the trip; but invariably they would end up with the contemplation of their reward, giving expression to their dreams of owning motor-cars of their own. To the poorer girls the idea was too entrancing ever to lose its novelty; Florence and Daisy would talk for hours of the trips they meant to take, the people they would invite to go riding with them, the pleasure and the service they intended to give. Had it not been for these hours of happy anticipation the time would have seemed to pass slowly; all of the girls—even Marjorie, who was usually too busy to be bored—grew impatient of the months that intervened. car class navigation But at last the college term neared its close, and the scouts began to make definite preparations for their excursion. Marjorie selected her committee and planned to buy the equipment in Philadelphia, a week or so before the time to start. She had commissioned John Hadley to order the other automobile—a seven passenger touring car—and had thereby won an invitation for herself and Alice and Lily (the other two members of her committee) to stay with Mrs. Hadley while they were in Philadelphia. Recalling the pleasure and the convenience of a similar visit the preceding summer, when she was buying equipment for the tea-room, she accepted the invitation gratefully for herself and her companions. “I’m so glad I’m a member of this committee,” remarked Lily as their train pulled into Philadelphia; “so that we will have this week together. For I think it is going to be lots of fun.” “If it’s anything like last year it will,” returned Marjorie. “Ah, but remember that we had the boys then to make things lively,” observed Alice. “Well, we have them now. Aren’t we staying at John’s home—and isn’t my brother Jack working right here in Philadelphia—and ready to help us at any minute? And—” Marjorie glanced slyly at Lily—“I dare say Lil might be able to locate Dick Roberts if we needed him!” “It’s time to get our gloves on!” was all the reply her jest drew from Lily. “We’re slowing up already.”´ car Five minutes later the girls were seated in John Hadley’s Ford, driving through the city to the suburbs where his mother’s home was located. Marjorie as usual was in high spirits, but again John experienced that intangible sensation of jealousy because her happiness seemed to be caused rather by her bright expectations than by his mere presence. While she was asking him about the new car, he suddenly sighed audibly; somehow he felt that as long as the Girl Scouts continued to plan these novel undertakings, he would never hold anything but second place in Marjorie’s interest. The girl noticed the sigh, and asked him whether she were boring him. “Of course not!” he declared emphatically. “As if you ever could—” “Then what is it?” she asked sympathetically. “Only that I wish that I were a Girl Scout—to merit more of your attention.” Marjorie laughed merrily; she did not believe that the young man was in earnest. “You didn’t answer my question,” she persisted. “Has the car come yet?” “Yes; it’s in our garage.” “Oh, goody! Drive fast then, John. It seems as if I can’t wait a minute to see it!” Obedient to her command he put on all his power, in defiance of the speed laws in the city, and reached home in an incredibly short time for a Ford. Marjorie waited only to pay her respects to Mrs. Hadley; then without even removing her hat, she followed John’s machine out to the garage. There she found the new possession, shining and bright and handsome with its fresh paint and polished metal. affect car car model city driver driving garage law passenger scenery speed “Let’s get in and drive it immediately!” she cried. “I think it’s the most beautiful car I ever saw!” “Not the most beautiful,” corrected Lily. “At least I wouldn’t admit it could compare with my Rolls-Royce—” “Or my Ford!” put in John, and the girls all laughed. “It will be great to drive into town every day to do our shopping,” remarked Alice. “Won’t we feel grand—?” “I’m afraid that won’t be very satisfactory,” said John. “On account of the parking rules. You can’t leave a machine alone, you know; you would have to put it into a garage.” “We can easily do that,” remarked Alice, airily. “Money is scarcely a consideration with us now!” “Doesn’t that sound fine?” laughed Marjorie. “I guess it’s the first time in our lives that we were ever able to say that.” “And probably the last time,” added Lily. “Unless some of us marry those rich heirs of your aunt, Alice!” John glanced up apprehensively at this suggestion. “What’s this about rich heirs?” he asked, with so much concern that all three of the girls burst into laughter. “You’ll probably never see Marjorie again!” teased Alice. “When we meet these two cousins of mine who are destined to inherit all of Aunt Emeline’s money, Marj will just fall for them. And of course they’ll fall for her!” “Oh, of course!” said Marjorie, sarcastically. “Maybe some of us fellows had better take the trip in my tin Lizzie after all,” observed John. “Nothing doing!” protested Marjorie, emphatically. “We’d be sure to break our rule not to accept help from men along the way. And then we’d forfeit our trip, and our reward at the end, too.” “Well, I hope you don’t have any accidents along the way,” said John. “Though I do hate to think of you girls all by yourselves, so far away!” “Oh, you needn’t worry,” Alice reassured him. “Don’t forget we’re not just ordinary girls. We’re Girl Scouts!” affect car car model driving garage law parking By dint of much persuasion, Marjorie was induced to leave the garage and go into the house. Here she found new sources of interest; Mrs. Hadley had collected catalogues of sporting goods and books of advice upon motoring and crossing the country, and had piled them all upon the table in the living-room. The girls literally dived for them as soon as they realized what they were. “Of course we’ll need tents,” said Marjorie, turning immediately to the fascinating displays that were shown by the various dealers represented in the catalogues. “And look at these cunning little folding stoves!” cried Lily, pointing to an illustration that captured her eye. “Don’t forget dishes!” put in Alice. “They ought to be tin or aluminum—” “You better carry a revolver apiece,” cautioned John. “I don’t know about that,” remarked his mother. “The books and articles that I have read on the subject say that it is not necessary to carry that sort of protection. There is usually an unfailing courtesy to be found along the road, particularly in the west.” “But we have to go through the east to get to the west,” sighed Lily; “and it will be just our luck to encounter all sorts of obstacles—ghosts, or bootleggers, or bandits—just because we want so desperately to get there safely.” “But that only makes it so much more fun!” returned Marjorie. “Yes, I know you love danger, Marj. But one day you’ll love it too much. Sometimes it seems as if you almost court difficulties.” “Still, we always gain by them in the end!” she replied, triumphantly. “I’m more concerned about the little troubles—something going wrong with the car, for instance,” said Alice. “And I’m so afraid we’ll some of us be weak, and accept help, and—” “And be sent home like bad children!” supplied Marjorie. “Wouldn’t it be funny,” observed John, “if you would come home one by one until only Alice was left to return the car to her aunt! I’m afraid that I would just have to laugh!” “Well, if you did, you never need come around us again!” snapped Marjorie. “Girl Scouts wouldn’t want to see you—” “Then I promise to shed tears!” interrupted the young man, hastily. “However, nothing like that is going to happen,” said Marjorie, conclusively. “We’re going across the continent with flying colors, as all Girl Scouts could, if they had the chance. It’s the opportunity of a life-time!” car East risk West equipment The girls turned again to their catalogues, and made long lists of articles, stopping every few minutes to discuss flash-lights, spare-tires, khaki breeches, in fact anything that came into their minds or to their notice. Alice’s aunt had told them that she would stand the expenditures for the equipment, and they were only afraid that they would buy more than they could comfortably carry. Nor did this danger grow any less during the next few days when they actually beheld the things themselves in the stores. Alice and Lily both wanted to spend lavishly; it was Marjorie who laid the restraining hand upon them. At the end of three days their purchasing was completed; there yet remained the more difficult task of mapping out the trip. Authorities seemed generally to recommend the Lincoln Highway as a good route across the continent, so the girls were glad that their benefactor had stipulated this road. They planned to start from Philadelphia on the fifteenth of June, aiming to reach their destination by the first of August. highway infrastructure navigation “Provided we traveled one hundred miles a day, which really is not a tiring distance, we ought to be able to make the trip in thirty days,” Marjorie estimated. “And that will give us fifteen days surplus.” “We can surely afford three days at Mae’s,” announced Lily. “And perhaps we could visit some other school or college friends along the way.” But Marjorie shook her head decidedly. “No,” she said; “I am willing to visit Mae, but nobody else. We shall need every one of those twelve remaining days. Suppose we have to stop for repairs, or get lost, or are held up by a bad storm—” “That will do, Calamity Jane!” exclaimed Alice, putting her hand over Marjorie’s mouth. “We don’t expect any misfortunes at all!” “No, we don’t expect them, but we don’t want to lose our cars just because we didn’t allow enough time.” “Marj!” exclaimed John, suddenly. “I have it! If you get in trouble, wire for us, and we’ll put on skirts! We used that disguise effectively last year—why not now?” The girl gazed at him mournfully. “Too bad, John, but it couldn’t be done! Unfortunately we’ll be on our honor now, and we’d know you were boys. Unless—” she smiled at the idea—“unless you were clever enough to deceive us!” “Nobody’s clever enough to deceive you, Marjorie! Not that I want to, but—” “Speaking of deception,” interrupted Alice, “I have been wondering how my aunt is going to be sure that we do live up to her conditions. She doesn’t know us, or anything about our characters.” “Maybe she wrote to college for references,” suggested Marjorie. “Or maybe she knows the high standards of all Girl Scouts.” “Let us hope so!” said John. “But perhaps she knows about Alice, and judges you all from her.” “Anyhow,” concluded Marjorie, “we’ll send her a detailed plan of our trip, so she can check us up if she wants to. Then we’ll go ahead, with the motto of ‘do or die’!” car driving +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Lowell, Amy Genre Poetry Journal or Book A Dome of Many-Colored Glass Publisher Houghton Mifflin Company Year of Publication 1922 Pages 53-55 Additional information - ode I know a country laced with roads, They join the hills and they span the brooks, They weave like a shuttle between broad fields, And slide discreetly through hidden nooks. They are canopied like a Persian dome And carpeted with orient dyes. They are myriad-voiced, and musical, And scented with happiest memories. O Winding roads that I know so well, Every twist and turn, every hollow and hill! They are set in my heart to a pulsing tune Gay as a honey-bee humming in June. ‘T is the rhythmic beat of a horse's feet And the pattering paws of a sheep-dog bitch; ‘T is the creaking trees, and the singing breeze, And the rustle of leaves in the road-side ditch. road agency personification river hill scenery metaphor music sound smell sublime tree wind summer A cow in a meadow shakes her bell And the notes cut sharp through the autumn air, Each chattering brook bears a fleet of leaves Their cargo the rainbow, and just now where The sun splashed bright on the road ahead A startled rabbit quivered and fled. O Uphill roads and roads that dip down! You curl your sun-spattered length along, And your march is beaten into a song By the softly ringing hoofs of a horse And the panting breath of the dogs I love. The pageant of Autumn follows its course And the blue sky of Autumn laughs above. animal sky sound music fall road sky sunshine topography And the song and the country become as one, I see it as music, I hear it as light; Prismatic and shimmering, trembling to tone, The land of desire, my soul's delight. And always it beats in my listening ears With the gentle thud of a horse's stride, With the swift-falling steps of many dogs, Following, following at my side. O Roads that journey to fairyland! Radiant highways whose vistas gleam, Leading me on, under crimson leaves, To the opaline gates of the Castles of Dream. music pleasure affect sound animal road highway sound animal road highway +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Lowell, Amy Genre Poetry Journal or Book Ballads for Sale Publisher Houghton Mifflin Company Year of Publication 1927 Pages 199-200 Additional information - Hush, hush, these woods are thick with shapes and voices, They crowd behind, in front, Scarcely can one’s wheels break through them. For God’s sake, drive quickly! There are butchered victims behind those trees, And what you say is moss I know is the dead hair of hanged men. Drive faster, faster. The hair will catch in our wheels and clog them; We are thrown from side to side by the dead bodies in the road, Do you not smell the reek of them, And see the jaundiced film that hides the stars? Stand on the accelerator. I would rather be bumped to a jelly Than caught by clutching hands I cannot see, Than be stifled by the press of mouths I cannot feel. Not in the light glare, you fool, but on either side of it. Curse these swift, running trees, Hurl them aside, leap them, crush them down, Say prayers if you like, Do anything to drown the screaming silence of this forest, To hide the spinning shapes that jam the trees. What mystic adventure is this In which you have engulfed me? What no-world have you shot us into? What Dante dream without a farther edge? Fright kills, they say, and I believe it. If you would not have murder on your conscience, For Heaven’s sake, get on! forest tree car car part driving speed risk road condition death smell vision haptic personification metaphor intertextion metaphor intertext +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author MacKaye, Percy Genre Poetry Journal or Book Scribner’s Magazine Publisher - Year of Publication 1910 Pages 114 Additional information - Fluid the world flowed under us: the hills, Billow on billow of umbrageous green, Heaved us, aghast, to fresh horizons, seen One rapturous instant, blind with dash of rills And silver rising storms and dewy stills Of dripping boulders, then the dim ravine Drowned us again in leafage, whose serene Coverts grew loud with our tumultuous wills. pleasure topography sound metaphor Then all of nature’s old amazement Sudden to ask us: "Is this also Man? This plunging, volant land-amphibian— What Plato mused and Paracelsus dreamed? Reply!" And piercing us with ancient scan, The shrill primeval hawk gazed and screamed. intertext sound animalintertext sound animal +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author MacNeice, Louis Genre Poetry Journal or Book The Faber Book of Modern Verse Publisher Faber and Faber Year of Publication 1923 Pages 304 Additional information - Down the road someone is practising scales, The notes like little fishes vanish with a wink of tails, Man’s heart expands to tinker with his car For this is Sunday morning, Fate’s great bazaar, Regard these means as ends, concentrate on this Now, And you may grow to music or drive beyond Hindhead anyhow, Take corners on two wheels until you go so fast That you can clutch a fringe or two of the windy past, That you can abstract this day and make it to the week of time A small eternity, a sonnet self-contained in rhyme. pleasure speed maintenance car part road But listen, up the road, something gulps, the church spire Opens its eight bells out, skulls’ mouths which will not tire To tell how there is no music or movement which secures Escape from the weekday time. Which deadens and endures. architecture music sound metaphor haptic death metaphor haptic death +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author McKay, Claude Genre Poetry Journal or Book Constab Ballads Publisher London Watts & Co. Year of Publication 1912 Pages 40-42 Additional information - When you want to meet a frien', Ride up to Papine, Where dere's people to no en', Old, young, fat an' lean: When you want nice gals fe court An' to feel jus' booze', Go'p to Papine as a sport Dress' in ge'man clo'es. When you want to be jus' broke, Ride up wid your chum, Buy de best cigars to smoke An' Finzi old rum: Stagger roun' de sort o' square On to Fong Kin bar ; Keep as much strengt' dat can bear You do'n in de car. car When you want know Sunday bright, Tek a run up deh When 'bout eight o'clock at night Things are extra gay : Ef you want to see it cram', Wait tell night is dark, An' beneat' your breat' you'll damn Coney Island Park. night When you want see gals look fine, You mus' go up dere, An' you'll see them drinkin' wine An' all sorts o' beer : There you'll see them walkin' out, Each wid a young man, Watch them strollin' all about, Flirtin' all dem can. When you want hear coarsest jokes Passin' rude an' vile, Want to see de Kingston blokes,— Go up dere awhile: When you want hear murderin' On de piano, An' all sorts o' drunken din, Papine you mus' go. Ef you want lost póliceman, Go dere Sunday night, Where you'll see them, every one Lookin' smart an' bright : Policeman of every rank, Rural ones an' all, In de bar or on de bank, Each one in them sall. Policeman dat's in his beat, Policeman widout, Policeman wid him gold teet' Shinin' in him mout'; Policeman in uniform Made of English blue, P'liceman gettin' rather warm, Sleuth policeman too. Policeman on plain clo'es pass, Also dismissed ones; See them standin' in a mass, Talkin' 'bout them plans: Policeman "struck off de strengt' Physical unfit," Hear them chattin' dere at lengt' 'Bout a diffran' kit. When you want meet a surprise, Tek de Papine track; Dere some things will meet you' eyes Mek you tu'n you' bac: When you want to see mankind Of "class "family In a way degra' them mind, Go 'p deh, you will see. When you want a pleasant drive, Tek Hope Gardens line; I can tell you, man alive, It is jolly fine: Ef you want to feel de fun, You mus' only wait Until when you're comin' do'n An' de tram is late. road condition affect trainaffect train +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author McKay, Claude Genre Poetry Journal or Book Spring in New Hampshire and Other Poems Publisher Grant Richards Ltd Year of Publication 1920 Pages 18 Additional information - About me young and careless feet Linger along the garish street; Above, a hundred shouting signs Shed down their bright fantastic glow Upon the merry crowd and lines Of moving carriages below: O wonderful is Broadway—only My heart, my heart is lonely. urban Desire naked, linked with Passion, Goes strutting by in brazen fashion; From playhouse, cabaret and inn The rainbow lights of Broadway blaze All gay without, all glad within; As in a dream I stand and gaze At Broadway, shining Broadway—only My heart, my heart is lonely. urban is lonely. urban +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author McKay, Claude Genre Poetry Journal or Book Spring in New Hampshire and Other Poems Publisher London Grant Richards Ltd Year of Publication 1920 Pages 36-37 Additional information - The tired cars go grumbling by, The moaning, groaning cars, And the old milk carts go rumbling by Under the same dull stars. Out of the tenements, cold as stone, Dark figures start for work; I watch them sadly shuffle on, ‘Tis dawn, dawn in New York. car anthropomorphism personification sound sky urban But I would be on the island of the sea, In the heart of the island of the sea, Where the cocks are crowing, crowing, crowing, And the hens are cackling in the rose-apple tree, Where the old draft-horse is neighing, neighing, neighing Out on the brown dew-silvered lawn, And the tethered cow is lowing, lowing, lowing, And dear old Ned is braying, braying, braying, And the shaggy Nannie goat is calling, calling, calling From her little trampled corner of the long wide lea That stretches to the waters of the hill-stream falling Sheer upon the flat rocks joyously! There, oh there! on the island of the sea There I would be at dawn. The tired cars go grumbling by, The crazy, lazy cars, And the same milk-carts go rumbling by Under the dying stars. A lonely newsboy hurries by, Humming a recent ditty; Red streaks strike through the gray of the sky, The dawn comes to the city. personification sound car urban sky But I would be on the island of the sea, In the heart of the island of the sea, Where the cocks are crowing, crowing, crowing, And the hens are cackling in the rose-apple tree, Where the old draft-horse is neighing, neighing, neighing Out on the brown dew-silvered lawn, And the tethered cow is lowing, lowing, lowing, And dear old Ned is braying, braying, braying, And the shaggy Nannie goat is calling, calling, calling From her little trampled corner of the long wide lea That stretches to the waters of the hill-stream falling Sheer upon the flat rocks joyously! There, oh there! on the island of the sea There I would be at dawn.the sea There I would be at dawn. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Moore, Marianne Genre Poetry Journal or Book Observations Publisher Farrar , Straus and Giroux Year of Publication 1924 Pages 65-66 Additional information - They answer one’s questions, a deal table compact with the wall; in this dried bone of arrangement one’s “natural promptness” is compressed, not crowded out; one’s style is not lost in such simplicity. The palace furniture, so old-fashioned, so old-fashionable; Sèvres china and the fireplace dogs— bronze dromios with pointed ears, as obsolete as pugs; one has one’s preferences in the matter of bad furniture, and this is not one’s choice, The vast indestructible necropolis of composite Yawman-Erbe separable units; the steel, the oak, the glass, the Poor Richard publications containing the public secrets of efficiency on paper so thin that “one thousand four hundred and twenty pages make one inch,” exclaiming, so to speak, When you take my time, you take something I had meant to use; the highway hid by fir trees in rhododendron twenty feet deep, the peacocks, hand-forged gates, old Persian velvet, roses outlined in pale black on an ivory ground, the pierced iron shadows of the cedars, Chinese carved glass, old Waterford, lettered ladies; landscape gardening twisted into permanence; highway infrastructure plant tree garden straight lines over such great distances as one finds in Utah or in Texas, where people do not have to be told that a good brake is as important as a good motor; where by means of extra sense-cells in the skin they can, like trout, smell what is coming— those cool sirs with the explicit sensory apparatus of common sense, who know the exact distance between two points as the crow flies; there is something attractive about a mind that moves in a straight line— the municipal bat roost of mosquito warfare; the American string quartet; these are questions more than answers, road car part car haptic smell sense and Bluebeard’s Tower above the coral reefs, the magic mousetrap closing on all points of the compass, capping like petrified surf the furious azure of the bay, where there is no dust, and life is like a lemon leaf, a green piece of tough translucent parchment, where the crimson, the copper, and the Chinese vermilion of the poincianas set fire to the masonry and turquoise blues refute the clock; this dungeon with odd notions of hospitality, with its “chessmen carved out of moonstones,” its mockingbirds, fringed lilies, and hibiscus, its black butterflies with blue half circles on their wings, tan goats with onyx ears, its lizards glittering and without thickness, like splashes of fire and silver on the pierced turquoise of the lattices and the acacia-like lady shivering at the touch of a hand, lost in a small collision of the orchids— dyed quicksilver let fall to disappear like an obedient chameleon in fifty shades of mauve and amethyst. Here where the mind of this establishment has come to the conclusion that it would be impossible to revolve about oneself too much, sophistication has, “like an escalator,” “cut the nerve of progress.” technology In these noncommittal, personal-impersonal expressions of appearance, the eye knows what to skip; the physiognomy of conduct must not reveal the skeleton; “a setting must not have the air of being one,” yet with X-ray-like inquisitive intensity upon it, the surfaces go back; the interfering fringes of expression are but a stain on what stands out, there is neither up nor down to it; we see the exterior and the fundamental structure— captains of armies, cooks, carpenters, cutlers, gamesters, surgeons and armorers, lapidaries, silkmen, glovers, fiddlers and ballad singers, sextons of churches, dyers of black cloth, hostlers and chimney-sweeps, queens, countesses, ladies, emperors, travelers and mariners, dukes, princes and gentlemen, in their respective places— camps, forges and battlefields, conventions, oratories and wardrobes, dens, deserts, railway stations, asylums and places where engines are made, shops, prisons, brickyards and altars of churches— in magnificent places clean and decent, castles, palaces, dining halls, theaters and imperial audience chambers. technology factory infrastructure engine car part +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Murphy, Thomas D. Genre Non-Fiction Journal or Book On Sunset Highways Publisher - Year of Publication 1921 Pages 1-18 Additional information - construction infrastructure West I. A Motor Paradise [ edit | edit source ] (1-18) California! The very name had a strange fascination for me ere I set foot on the soil of the Golden State. Its romantic story and the enthusiasm of those who had made the (to me) wonderful journey to the favored country by the great ocean of the West had interested and delighted me as a child, though I thought of it then as some dim, far-away El Dorado that lay on the borders of fairyland. My first visit was not under circumstances tending to dissolve the spell, for it was on my wedding trip that I first saw the land of palms and flowers, orange groves, snowy mountains, sunny beaches, and blue seas, and I found little to dispel the rosy dreams I had preconceived. This was long enough ago to bring a great proportion of the growth and progress of the state within the scope of my own experience. We saw Los Angeles, then an aspiring town of forty thousand, giving promise of the truly metropolitan city it has since become; Pasadena was a straggling village; and around the two towns were wide areas of open country now teeming with ambitious suburbs. We visited never-to-be-forgotten Del Monte and saw the old San Francisco ere fire and quake had swept away its most distinctive and romantic features—the Nob Hill palaces and old-time Chinatown. Some years intervened between this and our second visit, when we found the City of the Angels a thriving metropolis with hundreds of palatial structures and the most perfect system of interurban transportation to be found anywhere, while its northern rival had risen from debris and ashes in serried ranks of concrete and steel. A tour of the Yosemite gave us new ideas of California's scenic grandeur; there began to dawn on us vistas of the endless possibilities that the Golden State offers to the tourist and we resolved on a longer sojourn at the first favorable opportunity. city infrastructure urban A week's stay in Los Angeles and a free use of the Pacific Electric gave us a fair idea of the city and its lesser neighbors, but we found ourselves longing for the country roads and retired nooks of mountain and beach inaccessible by railway train and tram car. We felt we should never be satisfied until we had explored this wonderland by motor—which the experience of three long tours in Europe had proved to us the only way to really see much of a country in the limits of a summer vacation. affect car driving mountain nostalgia road And so it chanced that a year or two later we found ourselves on the streets of Los Angeles with our trusty friend of the winged wheels, intent on exploring the nooks and corners of Sunset Land. We wondered why we had been so long in coming—why we had taken our car three times to Europe before we brought it to California; and the marvel grew on us as we passed out of the streets of the city on to the perfect boulevard that led through green fields to the western Venice by the sea. It is of the experience of the several succeeding weeks and of a like tour during the two following years that this unpretentious chronicle has to deal. And my excuse for inditing it must be that it is first of all a chronicle of a motor car; for while books galore have been written on California by railroad and horseback travelers as well as by those who pursued the leisurely and good old method of the Franciscan fathers, no one, so far as I know, has written of an extended experience at the steering wheel of our modern annihilator of distance. car city coast infrastructure road road condition scenery urban It seems a little strange, too, for Southern California is easily the motorist’s paradise over all other places on this mundane sphere. It has more cars to the population—twice over—and they are in use a greater portion of the year than in any other section of similar size in the world and probably more outside cars are to be seen on its streets and highways than in any other locality in the United States. The matchless climate and the ever-increasing mileage of fine roads, with the endless array of places worth visiting, insure the maximum of service and pleasure to the fortunate owner of a car, regardless of its name-plate or pedigree. The climate needs no encomiums from me, for is it not heralded and descanted upon by all true Californians and by every wayfarer, be his sojourn ever so brief?—but a few words on the wonders already achieved in roadbuilding and the vast plans for the immediate future will surely be of interest. I am conscious that any data concerning the progress of California are liable to become obsolete overnight, as it were, but if I were to confine myself to the unchanging in this vast commonwealth, there would be little but the sea and the mountains to write about. car construction highway infrastructure road Southwest sublime traffic Los Angeles County was the leader in good roads construction and at the time of which I write had completed about three hundred and fifty miles of modern highway at a cost of nearly five million dollars. I know of nothing in Europe superior—and very little equal—to the splendid system of macadam boulevards that radiate from the Queen City of the Southwest. The asphalted surface is smooth and dustless and the skill of the engineer is everywhere evident. There are no heavy grades; straight lines or long sweeping curves prevail throughout. Added to this is a considerable mileage of privately constructed road built by land improvement companies to promote various tracts about the city, one concern alone having spent more than half a million dollars in this work. Further additions are projected by the county and an excellent maintenance plan has been devised, for the authorities have wisely recognized that the upkeep of these splendid roads is a problem equal in importance with building them. This, however, is not so serious a matter as in the East, owing to the absence of frost, the great enemy of roads of this type. asphalt construction infrastructure road road condition risk Southwest urban Since the foregoing paragraph was first published (1915) the good work has gone steadily on and despite the sharp check that the World War administered to public enterprises, Los Angeles County has materially added to and improved her already extensive mileage of modern roads. A new boulevard connects the beach towns between Redondo and Venice; a marvelous scenic road replaces the old-time trail in Topango Canyon and the new Hollywood Mountain Road is one of the most notable achievements of highway engineering in all California. Many new laterals have been completed in the level section about Downey and Artesia and numerous boulevards opened in the foothill region. Besides all this the main highways have been improved and in some cases—as of Long Beach Boulevard—entirely rebuilt. In the city itself there has been vast improvement and extension of the streets and boulevards so that more than ever this favored section deserves to be termed the paradise of the motorist. city construction highway infrastructure pleasure road road condition San Diego County has set a like example in this good work, having expended a million and a half on her highways and authorized a bond issue of two and one-half millions more, none of which has been as yet expended. While the highways of this county do not equal the model excellence of those of Los Angeles County, the foundation of a splendid system has been laid. Here the engineering problem was a more serious one, for there is little but rugged hills within the boundaries of the county. Other counties are in various stages of highway building; still others have bond issues under consideration—and it is safe to say that when this book comes from the press there will not be a county in Southern California that has not begun permanent road improvement on its own account. highway infrastructure road condition I say “on its own account” because whatever it may do of its own motion, nearly every county in the state is assured of considerable mileage of the new state highway system, now partially completed, while the remainder is under construction or located and surveyed. The first bond issue of eighteen million dollars was authorized by the state several years ago, a second issue of fifteen millions was voted in 1916, and another of forty millions a year later, making in all seventy-three millions, of which, at this writing, thirty-nine millions is unexpended. Counties have issued about forty-two millions more. It is estimated that to complete the full highway program the state must raise one hundred millions additional by bond issues. construction highway infrastructure law The completed system contemplates two great trunk lines from San Diego to the Oregon border, one route roughly following the coast and the other well inland, while lateral branches are to connect all county seats not directly reached. Branches will also extend to the Imperial Valley and along the Eastern Sierras as far as Independence and in time across the Cajon Pass through the Mohave Desert to Needles on the Colorado River. California's wealth of materials (granite, sand, limestone, and asphaltum) and their accessibility should give the maximum mileage for money expended. This was estimated by a veteran Pittsburgh highway contractor whom I chanced to meet in the Yosemite, at fully twice as great as could be built in his locality for the same expenditure. desert law mountain reasources road California was a pioneer in improved roads and it is not strange that mistakes were made in some of the earlier work, chiefly in building roadways too narrow and too light to stand the constantly increasing heavy traffic. The Automobile Club of Southern California, in conjunction with the State Automobile Association, recently made an exhaustive investigation and report of existing highway conditions which should do much to prevent repetition of mistakes in roads still to be built. The State Highway Commission, while admitting that some of the earlier highways might better have been built heavier and wider, points out that this would have cut the mileage at least half; and also that at the time these roads were contracted for, the extent that heavy trucking would assume was not fully realized. Work on new roads was generally suspended during the war and is still delayed by high costs and the difficulty of selling bonds. construction highway infrastructure road road condition traffic At this writing (1921) the two trunk lines from San Diego to San Francisco are practically completed and the motorist between these points, whether on coast or inland route, may pursue the even tenor of his way over the smooth, dustless, asphalted surface at whatever speed he may consider prudent, though the limit of thirty-five miles now allowed in the open country under certain restrictions leaves little excuse for excessive speeding. It is not uncommon to make the trip over the inland route, about six hundred and fifty miles, in three days, while a day longer should be allowed for the coast run. asphalt driver driving highway law road condition speed In parts where the following narrative covers our tours made before much of the new road was finished, I shall not alter my descriptions and they will afford the reader an opportunity of comparing the present improved highways with conditions that existed only yesterday, as it were. Road improvement has been active in the northern counties for several years, especially around San Francisco. I have gone into the details concerning this section in my book on Oregon and Northern California, and will not repeat the matter here, since the scope of this work must be largely confined to the south. It is no exaggeration, however, to say that to-day California is unsurpassed by any other state in mileage and excellence of improved roads and when the projects under way are carried out she will easily take first rank in these important particulars unless more competition develops than is now apparent. Thus she supplies the first requisite for the motor enthusiast, though some may declare her matchless climate of equal advantage to the tourist. construction road condition If the motor enthusiast of the Golden State can take no credit to himself for the climate, he is surely entitled to no end of credit for the advanced state of affairs in public highway improvement. In proportion to the population he is more numerous in Southern California than anywhere else in the world, and we might therefore expect to find a strong and effective organization of motorists in Los Angeles. In this we are not disappointed, for the Automobile Club of Southern California has a membership of more than fifty thousand; it was but seven thousand when the first edition of this book was printed in 1915—a growth which speaks volumes for its strides in public appreciation. Its territory comprises only half a single state, yet its membership surpasses that of its nearest rival by more than two to one. It makes no pretense at being a “‘social’’ club, all its energies being devoted to promoting the welfare and interests of the motorist in its field of action, and so important and far-reaching are its activities that the benefits it confers on the car owners of Southern California are by no means limited to the membership. Practically every owner and driver of a car is indebted to the club in more ways than I can enumerate and as this fact has gained recognition the membership has increased by leaps and bounds. I remember when the sense of obligation to become a member was forced upon me by the road signs which served me almost hourly when touring and this is perhaps the feature of the club’s work which first impresses the newcomer. Everywhere in the southern half of California and even on a transcontinental highway the familiar white diamond-shaped signboard greets one’s sight—often a friend in need, saving time and annoyance. The maps prepared and supplied by the club were even a greater necessity and this service has been amplified and extended until it not only covers every detail of the highways and byways of California, but also includes the main roads of adjacent states and one transcontinental route as well. These maps are frequently revised and up-to-the-minute road information may always be had by application to the Touring Department of the club. highway infrastructue map navigation road traffic sign When we planned our first tour, at a time when road conditions were vastly different from what they are now, our first move was to seek the assistance of this club, which was readily given as a courtesy to a visiting motorist. The desired information was freely and cheerfully supplied, but I could not help feeling, after experiencing so many benefits from the work of the club, that I was under obligations to become a member. And I am sure that even the transient motorist, though he plans a tour of but a few weeks, will be well repaid—and have a clearer conscience—should his first move be to take membership in this live organization. We found the club an unerring source of information as to the most practicable route to take on a proposed tour, the best way out of the city, and the general condition of the roads to be covered. The club is also an authority on hotels, garages and “objects of interest’’ generally in the territory covered by its activities. Besides the main organization, which occupies its own building at Adams and Figueroa Streets, Los Angeles, there are numerous branch offices in the principal towns of the counties of Southern California, which in their localities can fulfill most of the functions of the club. The club maintains a department of free legal advice and its membership card is generally sufficient bail for members charged with violating the speed or traffic regulations. It is always willing to back its members to the limit when the presumption of being right is in their favor, but it has no sympathy with the reckless joy rider and lawbreaker and does all it can to discourage such practices. It has been a powerful influence in obtaining sane and practical motor car legislation, such as raising the speed limit in the open country to thirty-five miles per hour, and providing severer penalties against theft of motor cars. One of the most valuable services of the club has been its relentless pursuit and prosecution of motor car thieves and the recovery of a large percentage of stolen cars. In fact, Los Angeles stands at the head of the large cities of the country in a minimum of net losses of cars by theft and the club can justly claim credit for this. The club has also done much to abate the former scandalous practices of many towns in fixing a very low speed limit with a view of helping out local finances by collecting heavy fines. This is now regulated by state laws and the motorist who is willing to play fair with the public will not suffer much annoyance. The efforts of the club to eliminate what it considers double taxation of its members who must pay both a horse power fee and a heavy property tax were not successful, but the California motorist has the consolation of knowing that all taxes, fines and fees affecting the motor car go to the good cause of road maintenance. accident car driver law risk speed Another important service rendered by the club is the insurance of its members against all the hazards connected with operation of an automobile. Fire, theft, liability, collision, etc., are written practically at cost. The club also maintains patrol and trouble cars which respond free of cost to members in difficulty. law risk Besides all this, the club deserves much credit for the advanced position of California in highway improvement. It has done much to create the public sentiment which made the bond issues possible and it has rendered valuable assistance in surveying and building the new roads. It has kept in constant touch with the State Highway Commission and its superior knowledge of the best and shortest routes has been of great service in locating the new state roads. My story is to deal with several sojourns in the Sunset State during the months of April and May of consecutive years. We shipped our car by rail in care of a Los Angeles garage and so many follow this practice that the local agents are prepared to receive and properly care for the particular machines which they represent and several freight-for-warding companies also make a specialty of this service. On our arrival our car was ready for the road and it proved extremely serviceable in getting us located. Los Angeles is the logical center from which to explore the southern half of the state and we were fortunate in securing a furnished house in a good part of the city without much delay. We found a fair percentage of the Los Angeles population ready to move out on short notice and to turn over to us their homes and everything in them—for a consideration, of course. car garage train On our second sojourn in the city we varied things by renting furnished apartments, of which there are an endless number and variety to choose from, and if this plan did not prove quite so satisfactory and comfortable as the house, it was less expensive. We also had experience on several later occasions with numerous hotels—Los Angeles, as might be expected, is well supplied with hotels of all degrees of merit—but our experience in pre-war days would hardly be representative of the present time, especially when rates are considered. The Alexandria and Angelus were—and doubtless are—up to the usual metropolitan standards of service and comfort, with charges to correspond. The Gates, where we stopped much longer, was a cleanly and comfortable hotel with lower rates and represents a large class of similar establishments such as the Clark, the Stillwell, the Trinity, the Hayward, the Roslyn, the Savoy, and many others. One year we tried the Leighton, which is beautifully located on Westlake Park and typical of several outlying hotels that afford more quiet and greater convenience for parking and handling one’s car than can be found in the business district. Others in this class are the Darby, the Hershey Arms, the Hollywood, and the Alvarado. Los Angeles, for all its preeminence as a tourist city, was long without a resort hotel of the first magnitude, leaving the famous Pasadena hostelries such as the Green, Raymond, Maryland and Huntington, to cater to the class of patrons who do not figure costs in their quest for the luxurious in hotel service. This shortage was supplied in 1920 by the erection of the Ambassador Hotel on Wilshire Boulevard—one of the largest resort hotels in the world. The building is surrounded by spacious grounds and the property is said to represent an investment of $5,000,000. It is one of the “objects of interest’’ in Los Angeles and will be visited by many tourists who may not care to pay the price to become regular guests. After our experience with hotels, apartments and rented houses, we finally acquired a home of our own in the “Queen City of the Southwest,” which, of course, is the most satisfactory plan of all, though not necessarily the cheapest. city construction infrastructure parking Prior to the Great War Los Angeles had the reputation of being a place where one could live well at very moderate cost and hotels and restaurants gave the very best for little money. This was all sadly changed in the wave of profiteering during and following the war. The city acquired a rather unenviable reputation for charging the tourist all the traffic would bear—and sometimes a little more—until finally Government statistics ranked Los Angeles number one in the cost of living among cities of its class. The city council undertook to combat the tendency to “grab” by passing an ordinance limiting the percentage of rental an owner might charge on his property—a move naturally contested in the courts. At this writing, however, (1921), the tendency of prices is distinctly downward and this may reasonably be expected to continue until a fair basis is reached. It is not likely, however, that pre-war prices will ever return on many items, but it is certain that Los Angeles will again take rank as a city where one may live permanently or for a time at comparatively moderate cost. Public utilities of the city never advanced their prices to compare with private interests. You can still ride miles on a street car for a nickel and telephone, gas and electric concerns get only slightly higher rates than before the war. Taxes have advanced by leaps and bounds, but are frequently excused by pointing out that nowhere do you get so much for your tax money as in California. Naturally, the automobile and allied industries loom large in Los Angeles. Garages from the most palatial and perfectly equipped to the veriest hole-in-the-wall abound in all parts of the town. Prices for service and repairs vary greatly but the level is high—probably one hundred per cent above pre-war figures. Competition, however, is strong and the tendency is downward; but only a general wage lowering can bring back the old-time prices. Gasoline is generally cheaper than in the East, while other supplies cost about the same. The second-hand car business has reached vast proportions, many dealers occupying vacant lots where old cars of all models and degrees brave the sun—and sometimes the rain—while waiting for a purchaser. Cars are sold with agreement to buy back at the end of a tour and are rented without driver to responsible parties. You do not have to bring your own car to enjoy a motor tour in California; in fact this practice is not so common as it used to be except in case of the highest-grade cars. car garage gasoline infrastructure maintenance Another plan is to drive your own car from your Eastern home to California and sell it when ready to go back. This was done very satisfactorily during the period of the car shortage and high prices for used cars following the war, but under normal conditions would likely involve considerable sacrifice. The ideal method for the motorist who has the time and patience is to make the round trip to California in his own car, coming, say, over the Lincoln Highway and returning over the Santa Fe Trail or vice versa, according to the time of the year. The latter averages by far the best of the transcontinental roads and is passable for a greater period of the year than any other. In fact, it is an all-year-round route except for the Raton Pass in New Mexico, and this may be avoided by a detour into Texas. This route has been surveyed and signed by the Automobile Club of Southern California and is being steadily improved, especially in the Western states. driving East highway train Although California has perhaps the best all-the-year-round climate for motoring, it was our impression that the months of April and May are the most delightful for extensive touring. The winter rains will have ceased—though we found our first April and a recent May notable exceptions—and there is more freedom from the dust that becomes troublesome in some localities later in the summer. The country will be at its best—snow-caps will still linger on the higher mountains; the foothills will be green and often varied with great dashes of color—white, pale yellow, blue, or golden yellow, as some particular wild flower gains the mastery. The orange groves will be laden with golden globes and sweet with blossoms, and the roses and other cultivated flowers will still be in their prime. The air will be balmy and pleasant during the day, with a sharp drop towards evening that makes it advisable to keep a good supply of wraps in the car. An occasional shower will hardly interfere with one’s going, even on the unimproved country road. driving plant pleasure rain road road condition scenery sublime summer winter For there is still unimproved country road, despite all I have said in praise of the new highways. A great deal of our touring was over roads seldom good at their best and often quite impassable during the heavy winter rains. There were stretches of “adobe” to remind us of “gumbo” at home; there were miles of heavy sand and there were rough, stone-strewn trails hardly deserving to be called roads at all! These defects are being mended with almost magical rapidity, but California is a vast state and with all her progress it will be years before all her counties attain the Los Angeles standard. We found many primitive bridges and oftener no bridges at all, since in the dry season there is no difficulty in fording the hard-bottom streams, and not infrequently the streams themselves had vanished. But in winter these same streams are often raging torrents that defy crossing for days at a time. During the summer and early autumn months the dust will be deep on unimproved roads and some of the mountain passes will be difficult on this account. So it is easy to see that even California climate does not afford ideal touring conditions the year round. Altogether, the months of April, May, and June afford the best average of roads and weather, despite the occasional showers that one may expect during the earlier part of this period. It is true that during these months a few of the mountain roads will be closed by snow, but one can not have everything his own way, and I believe the beauty of the country and climate at this time will more than offset any enforced omissions. The trip to Yosemite is not practical during this period over existing routes, though it is to be hoped the proposed all-the-year road will be a reality before long. The Lake Tahoe road is seldom open before the middle of June, and this delightful trip can not be taken during the early spring unless the tourist is content with the railway trains. adobe bridge construction infrastructure mountain rain risk road road condition snow spring summer weather winter Our several tours in California aggregated more than thirty thousand miles and extended from Tia Juana to the Oregon border. The scope of this volume, however, is confined to the southern half of the state and the greater part of it deals with the section popularly known as Southern California—the eight counties lying south of Tehachapi Pass. Of course we traversed some roads several times, but we visited most of the interesting points of the section—with some pretty strenuous trips, as will appear in due course of my narrative. We climbed many mountains, visited the endless beaches, stopped at the famous hotels, and did not miss a single one of the twenty or more old Spanish missions. We saw the orange groves and palms of Riverside and Redlands, the great oaks of Paso Robles, the queer old cypresses of Monterey, the Torrey Pines of LaJolla, the lemon groves of San Diego, the vast wheatfields of the San Joaquin and Salinas Valleys, the cherry orchards of San Mateo, the great vineyards of the Napa and Santa Rosa Valleys, the lonely beauty of Clear Lake Valley, the giant trees of Santa Cruz, the Yosemite Valley, Tahoe, the gem of mountain lakes, the blossoming desert of Imperial, and a thousand other things that make California an enchanted land. And the upshot of it all was that we fell in love with the Golden State—so much in love with it that what I set down may be tinged with prejudice; but what story of California is free from this amiable defect? agriculture architecture lake plains mountain road road side scenery Southwest topography tree +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Newsome, Mary Effie Lee Genre Poetry Journal or Book Golden Slippers: An Anthology of Negro Poetry for Young Readers Publisher Harper & Row Year of Publication 1927 Pages 26 Additional information - The baker's boy delivers loaves All up and down our street. His car is white, his clothes are white, White to his very feet. I wonder if he stays that way. I don't see how he does all day. I’d like to watch him going home When all the loaves are out. His clothes must look quite different then, At least I have no doubt. car road whitenessdoubt. car road whiteness +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Oppenheim, James Genre Poetry Journal or Book Songs for the New Age Publisher The Century Co. Year of Publication 1914 Pages 115-116 Additional information - Starless and still... Who stopped this heart? Who bound this city in a trance? With open eyes the sleeping houses stare at the Park: And among nude boughs the slumbering hanging moons are gazing: And somnambulant drops of melting snow glide from the roofs and patter on the pave... I in a dream draw the echoes of my footfall silvery sharp... Sleep-walking city! Who are the wide-eyed prowlers in the night? What nightmare-ridden cars move through their own far thunder? What living death of the wind rises, crackling the drowsy twigs? urban car personification sound In the enchantment of the ebb of life, In the miracle of millions stretched in their rooms unconscious and breathing, In the sleep of the broadcast people, In the multitude of dreams rising from the houses, I pause, frozen in a spell. We sleep in the eternal arms of night: We give ourselves, in the heart of peril, To sheer unconsciousness: Silently sliding through space, the huge globe turns. I cannot go: I dream that behind a window one wakes, a woman: She is thinking of me.ne wakes, a woman: She is thinking of me. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Oppenheim, James Genre Poetry Journal or Book Songs for the New Age Publisher The Century Co. Year of Publication 1914 Pages 7-8 Additional information - Why did you hate to be by yourself, And why were you sick of your own company? Such the question, and this the answer: I feared sublimity: I was a little afraid of God: Silence and space terrified me, bringing the thought of what an irritable clod I was and how soon death would gulp me down... This fear has reared cities: The cowards flock together by the millions lest they should be left alone for a half hour... With church, theater and school, With office, mill and motor, With a thousand cunning devices, and clever calls to each other, They escape from themselves to the crowd... urban car engine technology Oh, I have loved it all: Snug rooms, the talk, the pleasant feast, the pictures: The warm bath of humanity in which I relaxed and soaked myself: And never, I hope, shall I be without it—at times... But now myself calls me... The skies demand me, though it is but ten in the morning: The earth has an appointment with me, not to be broken... I must accustom myself to the gaunt face of the Sub- time... I must see what I really am, and what I am for, And what this city is for, and the Earth and the stars in their hurry... To turn out typewriters, To invent a new breakfast food, To devise a dance that was never danced until now, To urge a new sanitation, and a swifter automobile— Have the life-surging heavens no business but this? car technology? car technology +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Oppenheim, James Genre Poetry Journal or Book Songs for the New Age Publisher The Century Co. Year of Publication 1914 Pages 83-84 Additional information - You and I in the night, spied on by stars... You and I in the belovéd night... You and I within these walls. A breath from the sea is kissing the housetops of the city, Kissing the roofs, And dying into silence. Earth and stars are in a trance, They dream of passion, but cannot break their sleep. They pass into us, and we are their passion, we are their madness, So shaped that we can kiss and clasp... One kiss, then death, the miracle being spent. Watchman, what of the night? Sleep and birth! Toil and death! Now the light of the topmost tower winks red and ceases: Now the lonely car echoes afar off... Helen looked over the wine-dark seas of Greece, and she was young. But not younger than we, touching each other, while dawn delays... car sound night intertext Dare we betray this moment? Dare we die, missing this fire? Whither goes massive Earth tonight, flying with the stars down eternity? We are alive: we are for each other.e are alive: we are for each other. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Oppenheim, James Genre Poetry Journal or Book Songs for the New Age Publisher The Century Co. Year of Publication 1914 Pages 90-91 Additional information - city urban Where may she of the hall bedroom hold the love-hour? In what sweet privacy find her soul before the face of the belovéd? And the kiss that lifts her from the noise of the shop, And the bitter carelessness of the streets? Neither is there garden nor secret parlor for her: And cruel winter has spoiled the shores of the sea; The benches in the park are laden with melting snow, And the bedroom forbidden... But ah, the love of a woman! She will not be cheated! Up the stoop she went to the vestibule of the house, And beckoned to me to come to that darkness of doors: Here in a crevice of the public city the love-hour was spent... Outside rumbled the cars between drifts of the gas-lit snow, And the footsteps fell of the wanderers in the night... Within, the dark house slept... But we, in our little cave, stood, and saw in the gleaming dark Shine of each other’s eyes, and the flutter of wisps of hair, And our words were breathlessly sweet, and our kisses silent... car sound night snow Where is there rose-garden, Where is there balcony among the cedars and pines, Where is there moonlit clearing in the dumb wilderness, Enchanted as this doorway, dark in the glare of the city?ark in the glare of the city? +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Reynolds, Elsbery Washington Genre Poetry Journal or Book AutoLine o'Type Publisher The Book Supply Company Year of Publication 1924 Pages 104 Additional information - Every man from day to day Should save a portion of his pay. If what you save is only small, Still it’s more than none at all. There’s not a man who doesn’t know, To pay is better as you go. You'll find if you do not keep up, You'll be forever on the jump. It’s not the savings that you make That turn into a rich man’s stake. It’s lessons soundly learned of thrift, That are to you a priceless gift. Do not discouraged ever be Because the end you cannot see. Many possessing the lion’s part, Had to make the poor man’s start. If some investments have not paid, From the savings you have made, The gift for thrift to you He gave, You cannot lose if still you save. The man who says no use at all, Because his pay is only small, Will say the same when multiplied, For saving he has never tried. Just save a five and then a ten, And when you add some more again, You’re bound to make your saving score, Each little makes a little more. A motor car is like a man, Some cannot save and others can, The one of all that saves the most, It’s Studebaker’s right to boast. car car model metaphor pleasure safety —The Car with Character. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Reynolds, Elsbery Washington Genre Poetry Journal or Book AutoLine o'Type Publisher The Book Supply Company Year of Publication 1924 Pages 131-132 Additional information - In years of yore it made us sore, When teacher called our name, And said next Friday afternoon, You’re one that must declaim. Now we were always timid quite, To stand before the school, But declamations once a week, Was teacher’s golden rule. There’s nothing to declaim about, We then did fairly shout. Then teacher said with nasty flout, Keep still or you go out. But teacher loaned us many books, And all she did indorse, And that is how we came to tell The school about the horse. One book had pictures and a tale That sounded very fine, But we could never memorize No more than just a Iine, We then proceeded right away To join a horses’ band, And study horses in their play, And learn them out of hand. We then declaimed to all the school, Don’t take us for a fool, We find the horse is good to work, And bigger than a mule. He has two eyes so very keen, They see when you are coming, In front two feet and two behind, That move when he is running. He has two ears with which he hears, And tail to scare the flies, Sometimes he balks but never talks, By eating he survives. Some are bay and some are gray, And some of color muggy, The big and tall look best of all, In a Studebaker buggy. equipment car model If we again had to declaim And take a teacher’s jars, We'd tell you all about mistakes Of certain motor cars. We’d tell it true in words a few, The car of any maker, Is one we sell, the best for you, And made by Studebaker. car car model —The Car with Character. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Reynolds, Elsbery Washington Genre Poetry Journal or Book AutoLine o'Type Publisher The Book Supply Company Year of Publication 1924 Pages 150-151 Additional information - He went to war and gained renown, In every fight he stood his ground, Bullets passed him thick and fast, Not a scratch from first to last. We now relate this sorry fact, He’s been a month upon his back, On both his cheeks he’ll have a scar, He stepped in front of a motor car. car riskor car. car risk +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Reynolds, Elsbery Washington Genre Poetry Journal or Book AutoLine o'Type Publisher The Book Supply Company Year of Publication 1924 Pages 24 Additional information - Somebody said it can't be done, Salaries to all and commissions none. We smiled till tears were in our eyes, For can't is a word we do despise. We have done the thing that couldn't be done. Somebody scoffed it can't be done, Seven per cent to every last one. No compound rate or broker's fee, Will send you sure into bankruptcy. We have done the thing that couldn't be done. Somebody sneered it can't be done, Carry your paper for each mother's son. You can't collect, your loss run high, Let broker and banker cut the pie. We have done the thing that couldn't be done. Somebody croaked it can't be done, Service by night without the sun. Expenses great will bring you ruin, We heard them not with all their wooin'. We have done the thing that couldn't be done. Somebody mocked it can't be done, Back with you name the cars that 'ave run. Your profits will in them surely go, The public be d—d so take them low. We have done the thing that couldn't be done. car Somebody gibed it can't be done, This thing and that and the other one. So we took off our coat and defied the whole ring, And we started to sing as we tackled the thing. We have done the thing that couldn't be done. Some people live neath clouds of dread And never see a single star. Happier, they would be, if dead And riding in a Studebaker Car. car model —The Car with Character. —The Car with Character. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Reynolds, Elsbery Washington Genre Poetry Journal or Book AutoLine o'Type Publisher The Book Supply Company Year of Publication 1924 Pages 240 Additional information - sublime technology You may have your blooded speeding horse, We have given him up without remorse. The glory that all the nerves can feel, Is in a Six Studebaker wheel. car car model car part The swift and silent pedal machine, We once considered no wise mean. O’er us its magic has ceased to steal, Since turning a Six Studebaker wheel. car part sound speed The rushing of racing motor boats, Our mind no longer on them dotes. Flying through water has not the appeal, Of a Six Studebaker steering wheel. car part metaphor There is joy in a limited fast express, If a first class ticket you possess. But you'll better enjoy an evening meal, From holding a Six Studebaker wheel. car part Give us the still California night, When the moon is full and shining bright. Then life to us is never so real, If turning a Six Studebaker wheel. car part sky time West With miles of road like polished floor, At sixty per and sometimes more, We glide with ease mid laughters peal, Safe at a Six Studebaker wheel. car part infrastructure pleasure road safety speed Like a panther leaping through the air, With plenty of power and some to spare, For a Six Studebaker more of zeal, You'll have when once you turn the wheel. car model car part metaphor We'll warrant your mind will quickly fill With thoughts for a Six so full of thrill. To drive the ideal Six Automobile, Get back of a Six Studebaker wheel. affect car car model car part metaphor —The Car with Character. —The Car with Character. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Reynolds, Elsbery Washington Genre Poetry Journal or Book AutoLine o'Type Publisher The Book Supply Company Year of Publication 1924 Pages 25 Additional information - nostalgia Nothing can make our heart so warm, As visions of where we first were born, As the memory of that first Christmas tree, Where the old homestead used to be. The smile and song and the merry laughter, That rang from the cellar clear to the rafter, Each loved one's face we yet can see, Where the old homestead used to be. The fires were burning the coals were glowing, From all of our hearts affection was flowing, In honor of Him was our Christmas tree, Where the old homestead used to be. Pictures of those long passed away, Hung on the walls and watched our play, They shared with us in all our glee, Where the old homestead used to be. Those hearts of the long ago we treasure, In the memory with unstinted measure, All gathered around that Christmas tree, Where the old homestead used to be. The beauty that gathered in that dominion, Was though it had dropped from angel pinion, For the birth of Him who made us free, Where the old homestead used to be. The place to us was one of splendor, And cherished yet in our memory tender, And the glory of that first Christmas tree, Where the old homestead used to be. Some day again we will see the place, And, too, in our memory each one's face, In a Six Studebaker so easy and free, Where the old homestead used to be. car model —The Car with Character. —The Car with Character. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Reynolds, Elsbery Washington Genre Poetry Journal or Book AutoLine o'Type Publisher The Book Supply Company Year of Publication 1924 Pages 38 Additional information - religion We know a good old Missouri town, Where "niggers" a-plenty live all around. On a little hill down near the mill, The "nigger" church is standing still. When we were there some years ago, This church each night gave quite a show. To enter the house we had to strive, For the building was packed to all revive. The snow outside the church was deep, Inside were shouts while some did weep. The preacher's voice above the din, Proclaimed to all their awful sin. He said, "I's read de Good Book thro', I's fahmiliar with all de ol' an' new. Now you's all bette' believe in dis story, If you's a gonna get yo' a home in glory." Just then a gal, big, black and tall, Shouted, "Fo' de story I sho' does fall. With de dev'l I's fightin' both day an' night, But with yo' story I's winnin' de fight." The preacher replied, "My siste' host, You's get on de side o' de Holy Ghost. He'll look down deep in yo' po' ol' heart, You'll sho' beat de dev'l if yo' do yo' part." "lf yo' read de Book fo' to get yo' light, Yo' can dodge de ol' dev'l an' keep out o' sight. Jus' read fo' to keep from makin' colleesions, 'Bout Paul with his 'pistle after the 'Phesians." "If yo' faith go to shakin' an' yo' go to slippin', Jus' read de Good Book without no skippin', De dev'l am swif', but yo' stick to yo' Maker, Yo' can beat him to glory in de Six Studebaker." car model —The Car with Character. —The Car with Character. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Reynolds, Elsbery Washington Genre Poetry Journal or Book AutoLine o'Type Publisher The Book Supply Company Year of Publication 1924 Pages 52 Additional information - At a certain round-table a good-natured bunch Of finest of fellows met daily for lunch. An hour’s interchange of thoughts and ideas, All would depart each feeling at ease. They talked of the weather careless and free, A topic on which they did all agree. When one would mention the income tax, It was an occasion to give it some whacks. Golf came in for a share of discussion, There’s nothing in golf to cause any fussin’, If business was good or if it was bad, They tackled the matter and never got mad. When they discussed our time parking limit, All were agreed on keeping within it. But when they brought up our boulevard stop, Not one but said it was all tommy-rot. parking slowness Around this table without any jars They freely debated on all motor cars. They praised or condemned without any heat, Each claiming his car did all others beat. car model Things they discussed to no one was vital, Subjects were chosen for safety of title Till they took up a question a million years old Of vital concern to every one’s soul. time Of God each took a different stand, Divided on Nature, Spirit and Man, While one did declare God didn’t exist, The good-natured bunch has since been missed. religion On most every subject when men don’t agree, They smile, shake hands and part cheerfully. There’s danger in topics of soul and heart, Talk Six Studebaker and friends you will part. car model —The Car with Character. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Reynolds, Elsbery Washington Genre Poetry Journal or Book AutoLine o'Type Publisher The Book Supply Company Year of Publication 1924 Pages 55 Additional information - It’s known to all to be the law, That interest should you wish to draw, On something that you have within, You first must put that something in. For you, your business does not pay, And you lament from day to day, You have not to your business given, That from which pay is deriven. Your goose it lays a golden egg, Marks up your interest just a peg, But feed, you must, your goose of old, If you would get your egg of gold. If interest in your church has died, It doesn’t revive although you’ve tried, Just ask yourself and look within To see what you are putting in. If your home is not going right, You stay out late most every night, You have no longer interest there, You’ve no investment worth the care. If you have brothers in your lodge, You now quite often try to dodge, Then your interest’s growing slim, You must put in if you would win. All through life as taught by Him, If you take out you must put in, It’s things you do for all about, You take your biggest interest out. With motor cars it’s just the same, What’s been put in comes out again. Now you can make your own deduction, From the Studebakers’ big production. car car model metaphor technology —The Car wih Character. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Reynolds, Elsbery Washington Genre Poetry Journal or Book AutoLine o'Type Publisher The Book Supply Company Year of Publication 1924 Pages 75 Additional information - efficiency Fortune comes through diligence and skill, There is always a way where there is a will, Industry of hand as well as of brain, Makes everything easy that’s worthy of gain. Our labor should always be well directed, No slighting for cause to be rejected. Genius may all great works begin, Labor’s the thing that makes them win. This rule is good for most every man, The more we do, the more we can. More busy we are, more leisure we have, For play to serve as our safety valve. The mind of man has been so made, That happiness in him will quickly fade, If slothful habits he does acquire, And industry is not his chief desire. Industry will our talents improve, Deficiencies from our abilities remove. With energies noble it is in accord, It brings to all its highest reward. Industry travels the road with joy, Duty is also along to convoy. There is no possible way to progress, If we no love for labor possess. The bread we earn by sweat of the brow, Is bread most blessed we must allow. It is far sweeter may all confess Than the tasteless loaf of idleness. As long as one lives and stirs all around, There’s food and dress for him to be found. Industry is said to be a health maker, We find it in selling the Six Studebaker. car model —The Car with Character.ar with Character. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Sandburg, Carl Genre Poetry Journal or Book Chicago Poems Publisher Henry Holt and Company Year of Publication 1916 Pages 52 Additional information - Riding against the east, A veering, steady shadow Purrs the motor-call Of the man-bird Ready with the death-laughter In his throat And in his heart always The love of the big blue beyond. driving personification zoomorphism sound Only a man, A far fleck of shadow on the east Sitting at ease With his hands on a wheel And around him the large gray wings. Hold him, great soft wings, Keep and deal kindly, O wings, With the cool, calm shadow at the wheel. car part drivert the wheel. car part driver +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Sandburg, Carl Genre Poetry Journal or Book Chicago Poems Publisher Henry Holt and Company Year of Publication 1916 Pages 54 Additional information - To the Williamson Brothers High noon. White sun flashes on the Michigan Avenue asphalt. Drum of hoofs and whirr of motors. Women trapsing along in flimsy clothes catching play of sun-fire to their skin and eyes. car sound road road surface traffic urban Inside the playhouse are movies from under the sea. From the heat of pavements and the dust of sidewalks, passers-by go in a breath to be witnesses of large cool sponges, large cool fishes, large cool valleys and ridges of coral spread silent in the soak of the ocean floor thousands of years. road road surface dust temperature pedestrian A naked swimmer dives. A knife in his right hand shoots a streak at the throat of a shark. The tail of the shark lashes. One swing would kill the swimmer... Soon the knife goes into the soft underneck of the veering fish... Its mouthful of teeth, each tooth a dagger itself, set row on row, glistens when the shuddering, yawning cadaver is hauled up by the brothers of the swimmer. Outside in the street is the murmur and singing of life in the sun—horses, motors, women trapsing along in flimsy clothes, play of sun-fire in their blood. road sound car sunshine urban road sound car sunshine urban +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Sandburg, Carl Genre Poetry Journal or Book Chicago Poems Publisher Henry Holt and Company Year of Publication 1916 Pages 96 Additional information - In the old wars drum of hoofs and the beat of shod feet. In the new wars hum of motors and the tread of rubber tires. In the wars to come silent wheels and whirr of rods not yet dreamed out in the heads of men. car car part engine risk sound technology In the old wars clutches of short swords and jabs into faces with spears. In the new wars long range guns and smashed walls, guns running a spit of metal and men falling in tens and twenties. In the wars to come new silent deaths, new silent hurlers not yet dreamed out in the heads of men. In the old wars kings quarreling and thousands of men following. In the new wars kings quarreling and millions of men following. In the wars to come kings kicked under the dust and millions of men following great causes not yet dreamed out in the heads of men.s not yet dreamed out in the heads of men. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Sandburg, Carl Genre Poetry Journal or Book Chicago Poems Publisher Henry Holt and Company Year of Publication 1916 Pages 99 Additional information - I shall foot it Down the roadway in the dusk, Where shapes of hunger wander And the fugitives of pain go by. I shall foot it In the silence of the morning, See the night slur into dawn, Hear the slow great winds arise Where tall trees flank the way And shoulder toward the sky. metaphor pedestrian road sound sky tree wind The broken boulders by the road Shall not commemorate my ruin. Regret shall be the gravel under foot. I shall watch for Slim birds swift of wing That go where wind and ranks of thunder Drive the wild processionals of rain. metaphor roadside scenery animal wind rain The dust of the traveled road Shall touch my hands and face. road road condition duste. road road condition dust +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Sandburg, Carl Genre Poetry Journal or Book Smoke and Steel Publisher Harcourt , Brace and Howe Year of Publication 1920 Pages 41 Additional information - New neighbors came to the corner house at Congress and Green streets. The look of their clean white curtains was the same as the rim of a nun's bonnet. One way was an oyster pail factory, one way they made candy, one way paper boxes, strawboard cartons. The warehouse trucks shook the dust of the ways loose and the wheels whirled dust—there was dust of hoof and wagon wheel and rubber tire— dust of police and fire wagons—dust of the winds that circled at midnights and noon listening to no prayers. car truck car part pollution dust "O mother, I know the heart of you," I sang passing the rim of a nun's bonnet—O white curtains—and people clean as the prayers of Jesus here in the faded ramshackle at Congress and Green. Dust and the thundering trucks won—the barrages of the street wheels and the lawless wind took their way—was it five weeks or six the little mother, the new neighbors, battled and then took away the white prayers in the windows? car truck car part dust pollution wind sound +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Shanks, Charles B. Genre Non-Fiction Journal or Book Scientific American , vol. 52 , no. 1335 Publisher - Year of Publication 1901 Pages 21398-21399 Additional information - infrastructure road condition risk driving skill Covering the North American continent from the Pacific coast to the Atlantic Ocean in an automobile has been attempted by Alexander Winton, president of The Winton Motor Carriage Company, of Cleveland. That the expedition failed is no fault of the machine Mr. Winton used, nor was it due to absence of grit or determination on the part of the operator. Neither was the failure due to roads. The utter absence of roads was the direct and only cause. car ocean driver road infrastructure Having been with Mr. Winton on this trip, I saw and experienced things the like of which automobile drivers in every civilized portion of the North American continent know not of, nor can an active imagination be brought to picture the terrible abuse the machine had to take, or the hardships its riders endured in forcing and fighting the way from San Francisco to that point in Nevada where the project was abandoned—where Mr. Winton had forced upon him the positive conviction that to put an automobile across the sand hills of the Nevada desert was an utter impossibility under existing conditions. car infrastructure risk road condition Rock roads and deep snow in the high Sierras were encountered and mastered, streams were forded and washouts passed, adobe mud into which the machine sank deep and became tightly imbedded failed to change the plucky operator's mind about crowding the motor eastward toward the hoped-for goal. It was the soft, shifting, bottomless, rolling sand—not so bad to look upon from car windows, but terrible when actually encountered— that caused the abandonment of the enterprise and resulted in the announcement by wire to eastern newspaper connections that the trip was "off." adobe car car part driving mud road road condition To those who are interested in knowing what was met and mastered during the days we were out from San Francisco; to those who wish to learn some facts about automobiling in a section of this country where all kinds of climate and every condition of road may be encountered in a single day, the experiences of the short trip will satisfy. road condition Our expedition left the government building in San Francisco and started across the bay for Oakland at 7:15 A.M., Monday, May 20. Left ferry foot of Broadway and got on road at 8 A.M. Turned off Broadway at San Pablo Avenue heading for Port Costa, distance thirty-two miles, hoping to reach there in time to catch the Sacramento River ferry to cross with Southern Pacific Express No. 4, which left Oakland at 8:01 with schedule to reach Port Costa at 9:15 A.M. driving river West Instead of running the thirty-two miles, we clipped off forty-four between Oakland and Port Costa as a consequence of mistaking the road to San Pablo and going around by way of Martinez. Reached Port Costa too late for the No. 4 trip and had to wait until 11:17 A.M., when the transcontinental express (The Overland Limited) was ferried over. river train West All morning the sky, which during the three weeks preceding had been clear and bright, was heavy with clouds. Before the opposite bank of the Sacramento was touched, the clouds opened. And what an opening it was. Adobe roads when dry and hard hold out opportunities for good going, but when the sponge-like soil is soaked with moisture, when your wheels cut in, spin around, slip and slide from the course and suddenly your machine is off the road and into the swamp ditch—buried to the axles in the soft "doby"—then the fun begins. adobe weather car part driving risk river road road condition Pull out block and tackle, wade around in the mud, get soaked to the skin and chilled from the effects of the deluge, make fastenings to the fence or telephone post and pull. Pull hard, dig your heels into the mud, and exert every effort at command. The machine moves, your feet slip and down in the mud you go full length. Repeat the dose and continue the operation until the machine is free from the ditch and again upon the road. mud road driving slowness Tie ropes around the tires to prevent slipping. It may help some, but the measure is not entirely effective, for down in the bog you find yourself soon again and once more the block and tackle are brought into play. Slow work—not discouraging in the least, but a bit disagreeable, considering that it is the first day out and you are anxious to make a clever initial run. car part risk affect After twelve hours' severe experience and the rain still pouring down, halt is made abreast of a lane leading to a ranchman's home. This ranchman is A. W. Butler. He came down to the road and replying to interrogations tells you that to Rio Vista, nine miles ahead, the road is particularly bad because of plowing and grading. Arrangements are made for our staying all night with him. The machine is run in his barn, we eat supper with intense relish, go to bed and get up early to find more rain, but a breaking up of the clouds with prospect of sunshine later. road road condition night road surface Got upon the road 7:40 A.M. Reached Rio Vista and two miles further on to "Old River" at 8:40. Go east on the levee road, which is of adobe formation with steep descending banks on both sides. On the left side is the river; the opposite bank runs down to a thicket, beyond which are orchards. Slide off the treacherous road on either side and nothing short of a derrick and wrecking crew could serve to a practical and satisfactory end. adobe risk river road road side road surface rural scenery A few miles from the ferry, a tree had fallen across the road. Mr. Winton used the ax to splendid advantage and, after some delay, the road was clear, and we were going ahead once more. Reached Sacramento at 1:15 P.m., but delayed in California's capital city just long enough to take on five gallons of gasoline. One we went toward the Sierras, passing through Roseville, Rocklin, Loomis, Penry, New Castle, Auburn, Colfax, Cape Horn Mills, and when darkness was fast approaching halt was made in the little gold mining town of Gold Run. accident driving gasoline risk road tree West From Auburn the climb commenced, and when Colfax was reached and passed, Mr. Winton was busy with his skillful knowledge in crowding the machine up steep mountain grades, along dangerous shelf roads from which one might look deep into canons and listen to the distant roaring of rushing waters below. driving mountain risk driving skill road condition Ordinarily there would be great danger in speed under such conditions—and there may have been risk to life and limb at the time, but I knew Mr. Winton, I knew him for his skill and that there was no call for nervousness with him at the wheel, so I sat back and enjoyed the scenery. driver driving skill speed passenger risk scenery Reached Gold Run at 7:40 P.M., just in time to escape darkness and avoid going into camp on the mountain side. On such roads, or, rather, surrounded as we were by canons, operation in the dark could not be regarded as safe. Our run that day was 123 miles. risk road mountain road condition Next morning, May 22, at 6:45 o'clock, the ascent was recommenced. Up and up we went, winding around and turning in many directions--but always up. From Gold Run we passed along through Dutch Flat, Towle, Blue Canon, Emigrant Gap, Cisco, and on to Cascade. Roads became particularly rugged after leaving Gold Run, and when we reached Emigrant Gap the few inhabitants who make that their home told us fully what rock roads and snow deposits would have to be encountered between their station and across the summit down to Donner Lake. driving mountain snow road condition It was the universal opinion that if the machine could stand the punishment sure to be inflicted between the Gap and Donner Lake, it would not be troubled at any point east of the Sierras, between Truckee, Cal., and New York City. Leaving Emigrant Gap, the game commenced in earnest. Unbridged streams were encountered and the machine took to the water like a duck in high spirits. Splash she would go in, and drenched she would come out. The water would many times come up as high as the motor and up would go our feet to prevent them getting wet. driving infrastructure river personification car part road condition When the New Hampshire Rocks were met, trouble seemed to be ahead. I asked Mr. Winton if he would put the machine to what appeared to me the supreme and awful test. "Of course I will," was the short and meaning answer, and on went the machine. One big bump and I shot into the air like a rocket. I was not thrown from the machine, however, and thereafter busied myself hanging on with hands and bracing with feet. At every turn and twist in the road, the rocks grew larger, and I wondered if anything mechanical could stand the terrible punishment. passenger car part road condition The motor never flinched, its power never lagged, it pulled us through those rocks and up the stiff grades. Emigrants westward bound in the early days would never trust horses or mules to convey their wagons safely to the bottom of one particularly stiff and rugged grade which Mr. Winton caused the motor to ascend. Those early day pathfinders would tie a rope to the rear axle of the wagon, take a turn around a tree and lower it gently. car car part engine driving personification tree We at last got through the New Hampshire Rocks and began calculating what would be our fate in the snow immediately to be encountered. The Cascade Creek, swollen by the melting mountain snows to river proportions, caused a halt about one-half mile west from the commencement of what was expected to be bothersome snow. The water in the stream was clear and sparkling, the current swift, and the bottom filled with huge sharp rocks. Mr. Winton pulled in the lever, the machine forged ahead. Splash and bump, bump and splash. Front wheels struck something big and hard, they went up in the air and when coming down, almost at the east bank, the right front wheel with a wet tire struck a wet slanting rock. The wheel was hard put, something must give way—and it did. The front axle on the right side sustained an injury, and after a lurch ahead the machine came to a sudden standstill. accident car part driving personification river Mr. Winton sent me to hunt a telegraph station. Walked east for about a mile until I could look up the mountain side and see the railroad snow sheds with some sort of a station in an opening. I climbed up through the snow, over fallen trees, broke passage through tangled bushes, and finally came upon a surprised operator, who asked what the trouble was. It was a little telegraph station for railroad service only, but the dispatcher took my messages and repeated them to the Gap, from which point they were sent, one to the Winton factory at Cleveland, asking for duplicate of part damaged, and another to L. S. Keeley, of Emigrant Gap, to come for us and our effects and take us back to the Gap, where we would wait for the repair parts. The machine was left alone in the mountain wilderness. car car part maintenance risk road side Arrived at the Gap and Mr. Winton soon developed uneasiness because of the enforced delay in the trip. Next morning he announced his intention of making a temporary repair and working ahead slowly through the snow. maintenance snow road condition On the following morning (May 24) at 7 o'clock, the repair had been completed. When darkness enveloped us that evening, the machine had covered seventeen miles. And such a day of battle. When it was over, we had reached and passed the summit of the high Sierras, the machine was hard and fast in a snow bank at the bottom of "Tunnel No. 6 hill," a treacherous descent, along which there was great peril every moment. driving mountain risk We walked back to Summit Station and stayed at the hotel that night. Next morning, aided by some kindly disposed railroad men who could handle shovels most effectively, the machine was dislodged. equipment Since the day in the snow banks, I have called it to Mr. Winton's mind. He says that the frightful experiences of that day, the abuse and hardship to which the machine was subjected, stay in his mind like the remembrance of an ugly nightmare. During the entire day, working up there among the clouds, we were cold and drenched. When it did not rain, it snowed or hailed. On the 25th, after getting free from the snow bank and passing through a number of small deposits, we got to Truckee, where we took on fuel and went on to Hobart Mills, a delightful lumber town, where Mr. Winton decided we would stay during the following day, Sunday, and dry our clothes. Reached Hobart Mills in a terrific downpour. gasoline city The officials of the Sierra Nevada Wood and Lumber Company (the "company" owns the town and all there is in it) were particularly generous in bestowing upon us many courtesies and making the time we spent with them in Hobart Mills that of delightful remembrance. Monday, May 27, started 6 A.M. from Hobart Mills, and that afternoon, toward evening, reached Wadsworth, Nev., the western gate to one of the worst patches of desert sand in that section. That day was another of rain. The early morning hours were bright, but when Reno, Nev., was left behind the skies changed from blue to white, then to a dark color and the clouds that had so quickly formed opened and spilled their contents about and upon us. desert rain road condition Reached Wadsworth splashed and covered with mud, wet through and hungry. Spent night at Wadsworth. Residents warned Mr. Winton about sand, more especially the sand hill just east of the town. Next morning we took on stock of rations and drinking water. That "sand hill," or rather the remembrance of it and the balance of our trip to Desert Station that day, are like the remembrance of another beastly nightmare. desert mud road condition All during the afternoon, it rained and the wind blew a gale, but the temperature was high and we did not mind. Had it not been for the rain and its cooling effect there on the sand and sage brush desert, I doubt whether we could have stood it. desert wind temperature The storm that day caused us to speculate largely as to whether some of the many bolts of lightning hitting close around us would not strike the machine, demolish it completely, and incidentally put the operator and passenger out of business. driver lightning passenger car risk personification But a kind providence was with us during the storm, and the lightning kept off. Getting up the Wadsworth sand hill, we cut sage brush and kept piling it up in front of all four wheels to give them something to hold to and prevent slipping and burrowing in the soft sand until the machine was buried to the axles and it became necessary to use block, tackle, and shovels to pull up to the surface. Got to the top at last, but found no improvement in sand conditions. It was the hardest kind of work to make the slightest progress, but at 5:45 in the evening halted at Desert Station, a place inhabited by D. H. Gates, section boss, his wife, Train Dispatcher Howard (his office, cook house, etc., were all combined in a box car which had been set out on a short siding), and a dozen Japanese section hands. storm car part desert equipment road condition Passed the night comfortably, and when the road was taken next morning (May 29) at 6 o'clock, the sun was shining and Mr. Gates predicted no rain for the day. We found the roads somewhat improved and on and on we went through that vast country of magnificent distances. We were in the country where rattlesnakes were thickest, near Pyramid Rock, of which one writer says: "This rock pyramid is alleged to be the home of rattlesnakes so numerous as to defy extermination." road road condition When out of the machine and walking around bunches of sage brush care was exercised in keeping out of striking range of these venomous reptiles. Mr. Winton has some tail end rattles as trophies, but I was not so anxious to get close enough to kill the snakes and cut off their tails. parking road side animal That day we plunged through four unbridged streams, and in one place where a bad washout had occurred, it became necessary for us to build a bridge before the machine would “take the ditch.” We lugged railroad ties—many ties from a pile close to the railroad tracks some distance away. And they were heavier than five-pound boxes of chocolate, but we finally got enough and bumped the machine through and on its way. river infrastructure Mill City was reached shortly before 5 o'clock. The Southern Pacific agent there said we could never get to Winnemucca (thirty miles to the east) that night because of the sand hills; the quicksand would bury us, he said. Another man who came up discussed the sand proposition with Mr. Winton and told him that there would be only one way in which "that there thing" could get through this thirty miles' stretch of quicksand. "How?" asked Mr. Winton. "Load her on a flat car and be pulled to Winnemucca." "Not on your life," retorted the plucky automobilist; into the carriage I jumped, he pulled the lever and off we went. The course led up a hill, but there was enough bottom to the sand to give the wheels a purchase and from the hill summit we forged down into the valley where the country was comparatively level. Nothing in sight but sage brush and sand, sand and sage brush. car part driving desert driver passenger plant Two miles of it were covered. Progress was slow, the sand became deeper and deeper as we progressed. At last the carriage stopped, the driving wheels sped on and cut deep into the bottomless sand. We used block and tackle, got the machine from its hole, and tried again. Same result. Tied more ropes around wheels with the hope that the corrugation would give them sufficient purchase in the sand. Result: wheels cut deeper in less time than before. car part equipment road condition slowness It was a condition never encountered by an automobilist in the history of the industry. We were in soft, shifting quicksand where power counted as nothing. We were face to face with a condition the like of which cannot be imagined—one must be in it, fight with it, be conquered by it, before a full and complete realization of what it actually is will dawn upon the mind. risk road condition Mr. Winton said to me: "Do you know what we are up against here? I told the Plain Dealer I would put this enterprise through If it were possible. Right here we are met by the impossible. Under present conditions no automobile can go through this quicksand." I suggested loading the machine and sending it by freight to Winnemucca. "No, sir," he flashed back emphatically. "If we can't do it on our own power this expedition ends right here, and I go back with a knowledge of conditions and an experience such as no automobilist in this or any other country has gained." road condition car When, after serious deliberation, he decided to abandon the trip he said: "If I attempt this game again, I will construct a machine on peculiar lines. No man who expects to operate in the civilized portions of this continent would take the machine for his individual service about cities and throughout ordinary country, but I tell you it will go through sand—and this quicksand at that." There is nothing more to tell. We left Mill City that night and rode into Winnemucca on a freight train. The machine, aided by its own power, had been hauled from its bed by horses and returned to Mill City, where arrangements were made to load it for Cleveland. We left Winnemucca May 30, at 2:40 P.M. on a Southern Pacific passenger train, and arrived in Cleveland June 2, at 7:35 P.M. train +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Stoner, Dayton Genre Non-Fiction Journal or Book Science , vol. 61 , no 1568 Publisher - Year of Publication 1925 Pages 56-57 Additional information Here you can find Sam Kean's 2022 article on Dayton Stoner's work. animal death risk We hear and read a good deal of the enormous annual toll of human life due to the mania for speed so generally prevalent among automobile drivers. On this account our city streets and country highways are dangerous places for pedestrians as well as for other and more discreet motorists. Even the widely heralded "dirt roads" of Iowa are tainted with human blood. "As a killer of men, the automobile is more deadly than typhoid fever and runs a close second to influenza. ... Up to August of this year (1924) 9,500 lives were sacrificed, chiefly in preventable accidents." Thus reads a recent account in one of our popular magazines. accident car death driving highway infrastructure risk road speed Not only is the mortality among human beings high, but the death-dealing qualities of the motor car are making serious inroads on our native mammals, birds and other forms of animal life. animal death risk This matter was most forcefully brought to my attention during June and July, 1924, when my wife and I made the journey overland from Iowa City, Iowa, to the Iowa Lakeside Laboratory, on West Lake Okoboji, Iowa, a distance of 316 miles. Parts of two days were occupied in the going journey on June 13 and 14, while approximately the same time was required for the return trip on July 15 and 16. Within a few minutes after we had started from Iowa City and a considerable number of dead animals, apparently casualties from passing motor cars, had been encountered in the road, it occurred to us that an enumeration and actual count of those that we might yet come upon during the remainder of the tour would be of interest. Accordingly, we undertook to do this on both the going and return trip which, although not over the same routes in their entirety, were of exactly the same length. animal car death risk road In this count only freshly killed carcasses of vertebrate animals lying in or immediately at the side of the highway were taken into consideration, and only those forms of whose identity we were certain as we passed along were included. Since we seldom exceeded 25 miles per hour we had ample time to identify the more familiar things. Stops were made for a few of the less common and unusual finds. animal car death driving highway infrastructure risk road road side rural slowness Our route took us through typical Iowa farming communities, for the most part moderately thickly populated and supplied with the usual farm buildings. Prairie, marsh and woodland were also represented as were various types of soil and vegetation supported by them. All these conditions make for a diversity of animal life, and we found it well represented on the highways. animal car infrastructure topography rural About 200 miles of the road were graveled; the remainder was just "plain dirt," most of which had been brought to grade. Of course the surfaced roads permit of greater speed, together with more comfort to the speeder and correspondingly greater danger to human and other lives. gravel risk road speed road surface In general, the greatest number of casualties were encountered on the good stretches of road. By way of illustrating this point it may be noted that on the return journey between the Laboratory and Marshall town, Iowa, a distance of 211 miles, all well graveled, 105 dead animals representing 15 species were counted; of these, 39 were red-headed woodpeckers ( Melanerpes erythrocephalus ). Several other forms that could not be identified in passing were met with. animal death gravel infrastructure Midwest risk rural As will be seen from the appended table the mortality among red-headed woodpeckers is higher than that of any other form observed, and I believe that a combination of circumstances will account for this situation. In the first place, these birds have a propensity for feeding upon insects and waste grain in and along the roads; second, they remain as long as possible before the approaching car, in all probability not being keen discriminators of its speed; and third, they have a slow "get-away," that is, they can not quickly acquire a sufficient velocity to escape the oncoming car and so meet their death. However, I feel certain that a speed of from 35 to 40 miles an hour is necessary in order to catch these birds. Of course this is not true for some other forms such as turtles and snakes which depend upon terrestrial progression and are comparatively slow movers. In most cases all animals, if given a reasonable time to escape, will cause the hurried motorist little if any delay. animal car death infrastructure road speed risk weapon Further comment need not be made upon the various factors entering into the situation here discussed. It will be sufficient to point out that on a summer motor trip of 632 miles over Iowa roads, 29 species of our native and introduced vertebrate animals, representing a total of 225 individuals, were found dead as a result of being crushed by passing automobiles, and that this agency demands recognition as one of the important checks upon the natural increase of many forms of life. Assuming that these conditions prevail over the thousands of miles of improved high ways in this state and throughout the United States the death toll of the motor car becomes still more appalling. animal car death highway infrastructure Midwest road speed risk +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Teasdale, Sara Genre Poetry Journal or Book Rivers to the Sea Publisher MacMillan Year of Publication 1915 Pages 23 Additional information - The shining line of motors, The swaying motor-bus, The prancing dancing horses Are passing by for us. car traffic The sunlight on the steeple, The toys we stop to see, The smiling passing people Are all for you and me. "I love you and I love you"— "And oh, I love you, too!"— "All of the flower girl's lilies Were only grown for you!" Fifth Avenue and April And love and lack of care — The world is mad with music Too beautiful to bear. music road spring urbansic road spring urban +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Weeks, Carrie Foote Genre Poetry Journal or Book The Outing Magazine Publisher - Year of Publication 1906 Pages 687 Additional information - A at the start was an Automobile. It answers to motor car, just as you feel. car B is the Brake that gives you control. If the Bubble Breaks you, you're in a Big hole. car part C stands for Cylinder, and your Chauffeur, Who takes many Chances at sixty-five per. car part speed D is the up-to-Date Dealer serene, And the Dance that he leads you about the machine. E is Experience for young and old; We pay dearly for it, and often are sold. F is the Factory where you will find It is Foolish to Fuss, if they're four months behind. G is Garage, and the God, Gasoline, Who Guides all his subjects, yet never is seen. gasoline infrastructure H is H. P., your Heaven and Hell. What pace are you making? The police can tell. law speed I is Ignition, Insurance and Ice. These three you must have on an expert's advice. car part J might stand now for a new Jeremiah, Who foretells disasters by flame, speed, or tire. car part risk speed K stands for all Kinds of cars on the mart. To pick the Kingpin would take cleverest art. car L stands for License, and Lawyer, and Lie— You're in touch with them all when an auto you buy. car law M is the Model you choose with great care, The Map that you follow for roads that aren’t there. car car model road map N is the Number attached to your car, And the Name (not a rose) that proclaims it a star. car law O is the Oil used for food and for drink, By this Ogre, half human, the real missing link. metaphor oil P stands for "Plain Clothes Men" always about. Police you can spot. For the others, watch out. Q is the Quest for a feminine hat, That will stay on the head, and have style, and all that. R stands foe Rules which must be obeyed, And the Races we win,—in our dreams, I'm afraid. law S means the Songs that we sing late at night, As the Search light weaves Shadows, now ghostly, now bright. T is the Tonneau for five, three or two. If a Tack finds your Tire, it’s all up with you. car part U is the Unruly, and also Uncertain. On the manners of autos and maids drop the curtain. car law V is Vibration—in sunshine, in gale, It's with us like goggles, or long auto Veil. W stands for Weight, and all kinds of Wheels. (Not Wheels in your head, or Weight in your heels) car part X is Xcess. Pray keep well in hand, For motor-car maniacs people the land. car risk Y stands for Yearnings to go far and fast. O bright Yellow Moon! we'll reach you at last. affect speed Z is the Zany so puffed up with Zeal, That he thinks he has mastered the automobile. car skill car skill +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Williams, William Carlos Genre Poetry Journal or Book Spring and All Publisher Frontier Press Year of Publication 1923 Pages 49-50 Additional information - In passing with my mind on nothing in the world but the right of way I enjoyed on the road by road law virtue of the law – I saw law an elderly man who smiled and looked away to the north past a house – a woman in blue who was laughing and leaning forward to look up into the man’s half averted face and a boy of eight who was looking at the middle of the man’s belly at a watchchain – The supreme importance of this nameless spectacle sped me by them without a word – speed Why bother where I went? for I went spinning on the driving four wheels of my car along the wet road until car car part road road condition I saw a girl with one leg over the rail of a balconyalcony +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Young, Clarence Genre Fiction Journal or Book The Motor Boys Across the Plains: OR THE HERMIT OF LOST LAKE Publisher - Year of Publication 1907 Pages 1-248 Additional information https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/43509/pg43509-images.html Preface/Chapter I. - Ramming an Ox Cart (1-10) accident risk animal PREFACE Dear Boys: Here it is at last—the fourth volume of "The Motor Boys Series," for which so many boys all over our land have been asking during the past year. To those who have read the other volumes in this line, this new tale needs no special introduction. To others, I would say that in the first volume, entitled, "The Motor Boys," I introduced three wide-awake American lads, Ned, Bob and Jerry, and told how they first won a bicycle race and then a great motor cycle contest,—the prize in the latter being a big touring car. Having obtained the automobile, the lads went west, and in the second volume, called, "The Motor Boys Overland," were related the particulars of a struggle for a valuable mine, a struggle which tested the boys' bravery to the utmost. While in the west the boys heard of a strange buried city in Mexico, and, in company with a learned college professor, journeyed to that locality. The marvellous adventures met with are told in "The Motor Boys in Mexico." Leaving the buried city, the boys started again for the locality of the mine, and in the present tale are told the particulars of some strange things that happened on the way. A portion of this story is based on facts, related to me while on an automobiling tour in the west, by an old ranchman who had participated in some of the occurrences. With best wishes, and hoping we shall meet again, I leave you to peruse the pages which follow. CLARENCE YOUNG. March 1, 1907. car model nationality West navigation THE MOTOR BOYS ACROSS THE PLAINS CHAPTER I RAMMING AN OX CART Mingled with the frantic tooting of an automobile horn, there was the shrill shrieking of the brake-band as it gripped the wheel hub in a friction clutch. "Hi, Bob! Look out for that ox cart ahead!" exclaimed one of three sturdy youths in the touring car. "I should say so! Jam on the brakes, Bob!" put in the tallest of the trio, while an elderly man, who was in the rear seat with one of the boys, glanced carelessly up to see what was the trouble. "I have got the brake on, Jerry!" was the answer the lad at the steering wheel made. "Can't you and Ned hear it screeching!" sound car part technology car model passenger driver The auto was speeding down a steep hill, seemingly headed straight toward a solitary Mexican who was moving slowly along in an antiquated ox-drawn vehicle. "Then why don't she slow up? You've got the power off, haven't you?" "Of course! Do you take me for an idiot!" yelled Bob, or, as his friends sometimes called him, because of his fatness, "Chunky." "Of course I've shut down, but something seems to be the matter with the brake pedal." "Have you tried the emergency?" asked Ned. "Sure!" speed topography nationality animal pedestrian accident risk car part Toot! Toot! Toot! Again the horn honked out a warning to the Mexican, but he did not seem to hear. The big red touring car was gathering speed, in spite of the fact that it was not under power, and it bore down ever closer to the ox cart. sound onomatopoeia nationality speed animal pedestrian risk car model "Cut out the muffler and let him hear the explosions," suggested Jerry. Bob did so, and the sounds that resulted were not unlike a Gatling gun battery going into action. This time the native heard. Glancing back, he gave a frightened whoop and jabbed the sharp goad into the ox. The animal turned squarely across the road, thus shutting off what small chance there might have been of the auto gliding past on either side. car part sound metaphor nationality pedestrian animal risk "We're going to hit him sure!" yelled Ned. "I say Professor, you'd better hold on to your specimens. There's going to be all sorts of things doing in about two shakes of a rattlesnake's tail!" "What's that about a rattlesnake?" asked the old man, who, looking up from a box of bugs and stones on his lap, seemed aware, for the first time, of the danger that threatened. "Hi there! Get out of the way! Move the cart! Shake a leg! Pull to one side and let us have half the road!" yelled Jerry as a last desperate resort, standing up and shouting at the bewildered and frightened Mexican. "Oh pshaw! He don't understand United States!" cried Ned. "That's so," admitted Jerry ruefully. "Vamoose, is the proper word for telling a Mexican to get out of the road," suggested the professor calmly. "Perhaps if you shouted that at him he might—" risk animal passenger driver nationality pedestrian What effect trying the right word might have had the boys had no chance of learning, for, the next instant, in spite of Bob's frantic working at the brake, the auto shot right at the ox cart. By the merest good luck, more than anything else, for Bob could steer neither to the right nor left, because the narrow road was hemmed in by high banks, the machine struck the smaller vehicle a glancing blow. car part accident driver speed scenery road condition The force of the impact skidded the auto on two wheels up the side of the embankment, where, poking the front axle into a stump served to bring the car to a stop. The car was slewed around to one side, the ox was yanked from its feet, and, as the cart overturned, the Mexican, yelling voluble Spanish, pitched out into the road. Nor did the boys and the professor come off scathless, for the sudden stopping of their machine piled the occupants on the rear seat up in a heap on the floor of the tonneau, while Bob and Jerry, who were in front, went sprawling into the dust near the native. accident car part animal nationality pedestrian health passenger driver dust For a few seconds there was no sound save the yelling of the Mexican and the bellowing of the ox. Then the cloud of dust slowly drifted away, and Bob picked himself up, gazing ruefully about. "This is a pretty kettle of fish," he remarked. "I should say it was several of 'em," agreed Jerry, trying to get some of the dust from his mouth, ears and nose. "You certainly hit him, Chunky!" "It wasn't my fault! How did I know the brake wasn't going to work just the time it was most needed?" "Is anybody killed?" asked the professor, looking up over the edge of the tonneau, and not releasing his hold of several boxes which contained his specimens. "Don't seem to be, nor any one badly hurt, unless it's the ox or the auto," said Ned, taking a look. "The Mexican seems to be mad about something, though." sound nationality animal dust accident metaphor car part health By this time the native had arisen from his prostrate position and was shaking his fist at the Motor Boys and the professor, meanwhile, it would appear from his language, calling them all the names to which he could lay his tongue. "I guess he wants Bob's scalp," said Jerry with a smile. "It was as much his fault as mine," growled Chunky. "If he had pulled to one side, I could easily have passed." The Mexican, brushing the dust from his clothes, approached the auto party, and continued his rapid talk in Spanish. The boys, who had been long enough in Mexico to pick up considerable of the language, gathered that the native demanded two hundred dollars for the damage to himself, the cart and the ox, as well as for the injury to his dignity and feelings. "You'd better talk to him, Professor," suggested Jerry. "Offer him what you think is right." nationality health animal Thereupon Professor Snodgrass, in mild terms explained how the accident had happened, saying it was no fault of the auto party. The Mexican, in language more forcible than polite, reiterated his demand, and announced that unless the money was instantly forthcoming, he would go to the nearest alcade and lodge a complaint. The travelers knew what this meant, with the endless delays of Mexican justice, the summoning of witnesses and petty officers. "I wish there was some way out," said Jerry. As the Mexican had not been hurt, nor his cart or ox been damaged, there was really no excuse for the boys giving in to his demands. "Let's give him a few dollars and skip out," suggested Ned. "He can't catch us." This was easier said than done, for the auto was jammed up against a tree stump on a bank, and the ox cart, which, the native by this time had righted, blocked the road. law nationality animal health tree accident But, all unexpectedly, there came a diversion that ended matters. Professor Snodgrass, with his usual care for his beloved specimens before himself, was examining the various boxes containing them. He opened one containing his latest acquisition of horned toads, big lizards, rattlesnakes and bats. The reptiles crawled, jumped and flew out, for they were all alive. "Diabalo! Santa Maria! Carramba!" exclaimed the Mexican as he caught sight of the repulsive creatures. "They are crazy Americanos!" he yelled. With a flying leap he jumped into his ox cart, and with goad and voice he urged the animal on to such advantage that, a few minutes later, all that was to be seen of him was a cloud of dust in the distance. "Good riddance," said Bob. "Now to see how much our machine is damaged." Fortunately the auto had struck a rotten stump, and though with considerable force, the impact was not enough to cause any serious damage. Under the direction of Jerry the boys managed to get the machine back into the road, where they let it stand while they went to a near-by spring for a drink of water. maintenance tree accident scenery While they are quenching their thirst an opportunity will be taken to present them to the reader in proper form. The three boys were Bob Baker, son of Andrew Baker, a banker, Ned Slade, the only heir of Aaron Slade, a department store proprietor, and Jerry Hopkins, the son of a widow. All three were about seventeen years of age, and lived in the city of Cresville, not far from Boston, Mass. Their companion was Professor Uriah Snodgrass, a learned man with many letters after his name, signifying the societies and institutions to which he belonged. Those who have read the first book of this series, entitled, "The Motor Boys," need no introduction to the three lads. Sufficient to say that some time before this story opens they had taken part in some exciting bicycle races, the winning of which resulted in the acquiring of Motor cycles for each of them. On these machines they had had much fun and had also many adventures befall them. Taking part in a big race meet, one of them won an event which gave him a chance to get a big touring automobile, the same car in which they were now speeding through Mexico. pleasure risk equipment speed car model Their adventures in the auto are set forth at length in the second volume of the series entitled, "The Motor Boys Overland," which tells of a tour across the country, in which they had to contend with their old enemy, Noddy Nixon, and his gang. Eventually the boys and Jim Nestor, a miner whom they befriended, gained some information of a long lost gold mine in Arizona. They made a dash for this and won it against heavy odds, after a fight with their enemies. The mine turned out well, and the boys and their friends made considerable money. The spirit of adventure would not drown in them. Just before reaching the diggings they made the acquaintance of Professor Snodgrass, who told a wonderful story of a buried city. How the boys found this ancient town of old Mexico, and the many adventures that befell them there, are told in the third book, called "The Motor Boys in Mexico." Therein is related the strange happenings under ground, of the sunken road, the old temples, the rich treasures and the fights with the bandits. Also there is told of the rescue of the Mexican girl Maximina, and how she was taken from a band of criminals and restored to her friends. These happenings brought the boys and the professor to the City of Mexico, where the auto was given a good overhauling, to prepare it for the trip back to the United States. The boys and the professor, the latter bearing with him his beloved specimens, started back for civilization, keeping to the best and most frequented roads, to avoid the brigands, with whom they had had more than one adventure on their first trip. It was while on this homeward journey that the incident of the Mexican and the ox cart befell them. maintenance animal road condition safety nationality Having slaked their thirst the boys and the professor went back to the auto where, gathering up the belongings that had become scattered from the upset, they prepared to resume their journey. "Get in; I'll run her for a while," said Jerry. "One minute! Stand still! Don't move if you value my happiness!" exclaimed the professor suddenly, dropping down on his hands and knees, and creeping forward through the long grass. equipment driver Chapter II. - A Nest of Serpents (11-19) risk animal equipment CHAPTER II A NEST OF SERPENTS "What is it; a rattlesnake?" asked Bob, in a hoarse whisper. "Or a Gila monster?" inquired Ned. "Quiet! No noise!" cautioned the professor. "I see a specimen worth ten dollars at the lowest calculation. I'll have him in a minute." "Is it a bug?" asked Chunky. "There! I have him!" yelled the scientist, making a sudden dive forward, sliding on his face, and clutching his hand deep into the grass. As it happened there was a little puddle of water at that point, and the professor, in the excess of his zeal, pitched right into it. "Oh! Oh my! Oh dear! Phew! Wow! Help! Save me!" he exclaimed a moment later, as he tried to get out of the slough. The boys hurried to his aid, but the mud was soft and the professor had gone head first into the ooze, which held fast to him as though it was quicksand. "Get him by the heels and yank him out or he'll smother!" cried Jerry. The other boys followed his advice, and, in a little while the bug-collector was pulled from his uncomfortable and dangerous position. As he rolled about in the grass to get rid of some of the mud, he kept his right hand tightly closed. "What's the matter, are your fingers hurt?" asked Bob. "No sir, my fingers are not hurt!" snapped the professor, with the faintest tinge of impatience, which might be excused on the part of a man who has just dived into a mud hole. "My fingers are not hurt in the least. What I have here is one of the rarest specimens of the Mexican mosquito I have ever seen. I would go ten miles to get one." "I guess you're welcome to 'em," commented Jerry. "We don't want any." "That's because you don't understand the value of this specimen," replied the professor. "This mosquito will add to my fame, and I shall devote one whole chapter of my four books to it. This indeed has been a lucky day for me." "And unlucky for the rest of us," said Bob, as he thought of the spill. It was found that a few minor repairs had to be made to the auto, and when these were completed it was nearly noon. "I vote we have dinner before we start again," spoke Bob. "There goes Chunky!" exclaimed Ned. "Never saw him when he wasn't thinking of something to eat!" "Well, I guess if the truth was known you are just as hungry as I am," expostulated Chunky. "This Mexican air gives me a good appetite." Bob's plan was voted a good one, so, with supplies and materials carried in the auto for camping purposes, a fire was soon built, and hot chocolate was being made. maintenance pleasure equipment "I'm sick of canned stuff and those endless eggs, frijoles and tortillas," complained Bob. "I'd like a good beefsteak and some fish and bread and butter." "I don't know about the other things, but I think we could get some fish over in that little brook," said the professor, pointing to a stream that wound about the base of a near-by hill. A minute later the boys had their hooks and lines out. Poles were cut from trees, and, with some pieces of canned meat for bait they went fishing. They caught several large white fish, which the professor named in long Latin terms, and which, he said, were good to eat. In a little while a savory smell filled the air, for Ned, who volunteered to act as cook, had put the fish on to broil with some strips of bacon, and soon there was a dinner fit for any king that ever wielded a scepter. Sipping their chocolate, the boys and the professor watched the sun slowly cross the zenith as they reclined in the shade of the big trees on either side of the road. Then each one half fell asleep in the lazy atmosphere. Jerry was the first to rouse up. He looked and saw it would soon be dusk, and then he awakened the others. "We'll have to travel, unless we want to sleep out in the open," he said. Thereupon they made preparations to leave, the professor gathering up his specimens, including the Mexican mosquito that had caused him such labor. "I think we'll head straight for the Rio Grande," said Jerry. "Once we get into Texas I expect we'll have some news from Nestor, as I wrote him to let us know how the mine was getting on, and, also, to inform us if he needed any help." "I'll be glad to see old Jim again," said Bob. "So will I," chimed in Ned. The auto was soon chug-chugging over the road, headed toward the States, and the occupants were engaged with their thoughts. It was rapidly growing dusk, and the chief anxiety was to reach some town or village where they could spend the night. For, though they were used to staying in the open, they did not care to, now that the rainy season was coming on, when fevers were prevalent. The sun sank slowly to rest behind the big wooded hills as the auto glided along, and, almost before the boys realized it, darkness was upon them. passenger driver navigation "Better light the lamps," suggested Ned. "No telling what we'll run into on this road. No use colliding with more ox carts, if we can help it." "I'll light up," volunteered Bob. "It will give me a chance to stretch my legs. I'm all cramped up from sitting still so long." Jerry brought the big machine to a stop while Bob alighted and proceeded to illuminate the big search lamp and the smaller ones that burned oil. He had just started the acetylene gas aglow when, glancing forward he gave a cry of alarm. parking car part oil "What is it?" cried Jerry, seeing that something was wrong. "Is it a mountain lion?" "It's worse!" cried Bob in a frightened voice. "What?" "A regular den of snakes! The horrible things are stretched right across the road, and we can't get past. Ugh! There are some whoppers!" Bob, who hated, above all creatures a snake, made a jump into the auto. "There's about a thousand of 'em!" he cried with a shudder. "Great!" exclaimed the professor. "I will have a chance to select some fine specimens. This is a rare fortune!" "Don't go out there!" gasped Bob. "You'll be bitten to death!" Just then there sounded on the stillness of the night a strange, whirring buzz. At the sound of it the professor started. "Rattlers!" he whispered. "I guess none of us will get out. Probably moccasins, cotton-mouths and vipers! There must be thousands of them!" animal risk night sound As he spoke he looked over the side of the car, and the exclamation he gave caused the boys to glance toward the ground. There they beheld a sight that filled them with terror. As the professor had said, the ground was literally covered with the snakes. The reptiles seemed to be moving in a vast body to some new location. There were big snakes and little ones, round fat ones, and long thin ones, and of many hues. sound risk animal "Let's get out of this!" exclaimed Ned. "Start the machine, Jerry!" "No! Don't!" called the professor. "You may kill a few, but the revolving wheels of the auto will fling some live ones up among us, and I have no desire to be bitten by any of these reptiles. They are too deadly. So keep the car still until they have passed. They are probably getting ready to go into winter quarters, or whatever corresponds to that in Mexico." "It will be lucky if they don't take a notion to climb up and investigate the machine and us," put in Jerry. "I have—" risk animal car part health He gave a sudden start, for, at that instant one of the ugly reptiles, which had twined itself around the wheel spokes, reared its ugly head up, over the side of the front seat, and hissed, right in Jerry's face. "Here's one now!" the boy exclaimed as he made a motion to brush the snake aside. "Don't touch it as you value your life!" yelled the professor. "It's a diamond-backed rattler, and one of the most deadly!" "Here is another coming up on my side," called Bob. "Yes, and there are some coming up here!" shouted Ned. "They'll overwhelm us if we don't look out!" risk animal health For a time it seemed a serious matter. The snakes began twining up the sides of the car, and, though most of them dropped back to the ground again, a few maintained their position, and seemed to exhibit anger at the sight of the boys and the professor. "What shall we do?" asked Bob. "We can't run ahead, or go backward, and, if we stay here we're likely to be killed by the snakes." Jerry, who was feeling around in the bottom of the car for his rifle, gave a cry as his hand came in contact with something. animal risk weapon equipment "Get bitten?" asked the professor in alarm. "No, but I found this lariat," said Jerry in excited tones. "Are you going to lasso the snakes?" asked Ned, wondering if Jerry had gone crazy. "No, but you see this lariat is made of horse hair, and I think I can keep the snakes away with it." "How; by shaking it at 'em?" "No. I read in some book that snakes hated horse hair, and would never cross even a small ring of it." "Well?" "Well, if I run this lariat all around the auto the snakes will not cross it to come to us. Then we can stay here until they all disappear." "Good!" exclaimed Ned. "That's the ticket!" The reptiles that had climbed up the wheels had gone from sight. With the help of Ned and Bob, Jerry began to spread the horse-hair lariat in a circle about the car. risk equipment animal skill Chapter III. - The Deserted Cabin (20-29) animal skill night rural CHAPTER III THE DESERTED CABIN In a few minutes the hair rope was all about the auto, spread out on the ground in an irregular circle. As the boys dropped it over the sides of the car the lariat struck several of the big snakes, and the reptiles shrunk away as though scorched by fire. "They're afraid of it all right!" exclaimed Ned. "I guess it will do the business." equipment animal risk Sure enough, there seemed to be a desire on the part of the snakes to clear out of the vicinity of the hair rope. They glided off by scores, and soon there was a clear space all about the car, where, before, there had been hundreds of the crawling things. "Shake the lasso," suggested Bob, "and maybe it will scare them farther off." "Yes and we might try shooting a few now they are at a safe distance," put in Ned. "It's too bad I can't get some specimens," lamented the professor, "but I suppose you had better try to get rid of them." So Jerry, who had retained one end of the long lasso vibrated it rapidly, and, as it wiggled in sinuous folds toward the reptiles they made haste to get out of the way. Then Bob and Ned opened fire, killing several. In a little while there were no snakes to be seen. animal equipment weapon "I guess we can go ahead now," said Jerry. "Who'll crank up the car? Don't all speak at once." "My arm is a bit sore," spoke Ned, rubbing his elbow. "Then you do it, Chunky," asked the steersman. "I think I have a stone in my foot," said Bob, making a wry face. "Ha! Ha!" laughed Jerry. "Why don't you two own up and say you're afraid there's a stray rattler or two under the machine, and you think it may bite you?" The two boys grinned sheepishly, and both made a motion to get out. car part pleasure risk driver passenger "Stay where you are," called the professor preparing to leave from the side door of the tonneau. "I'm used to snakes. I don't believe there are any left, but if there are I want them for specimens. I'll crank the car." So he got out and peered anxiously under the body, while the boys waited in anxiety. "No," called the scientist, in discouraged tones, "there are none left." He crawled out, covered with dust, which fact he did not seem to mind, and then turned the crank that sent the fly wheel over. Jerry turned on the gasolene and threw in the spark, and, the next instant the familiar chug-chug of the engine told that the auto was ready to bear the boys and Professor Snodgrass on their way. animal car part passenger dust gasoline driver skill sound They were headed on as straight a road as they could find to the Rio Grande, but, because of the conditions of the thoroughfares it would be several days before they could cross the big river and get into Texas. Their main concern now was to reach some place where there was shelter for the night. "Keep your eyes peeled for villages," called Ned. "We don't want to pass any. I think a good bed would go fine now." "A supper would go better," put in Bob. "Oh, of course! It wouldn't be Chunky if he didn't say something about eating," remarked Jerry with a laugh. "But there seems to be something ahead. It's a house at all events, and probably is the mark of the outskirts of the village." navigation river pleasure rural On the left side of the road, about a hundred yards ahead they saw an adobe, or mud hut. They could see no signs of life about in the half-darkness, illuminated as it was by the powerful search light, but this gave them no concern, as they knew the native Mexicans retired early. When they came opposite the hut Jerry brought the machine to a stop, and he and the other boys jumped out. The professor, who, as usual was arranging some specimens in one of the many small boxes he carried, remained in the car. rural night car part nationality parking passenger animal "Hello!" shouted Bob. "Is any one home? Show a light. Can we get a supper here?" "Why don't you ask for a bed too?" inquired Ned. "Supper first," replied Chunky, rubbing his stomach with a reflective air. No replies came to the hail of the boys, and, in some wonder they approached nearer to the hut. Then they saw that the door was ajar, and that the cabin bore every appearance of being deserted. "Nobody home, I guess," said Jerry. "No, and there hasn't been for some time," added Ned. "Maybe there's a place to build a fire where we can cook a good meal," put in Bob, whereat his companions laughed. They went into the hut, and found, that, while it was in good condition, and furnished as well as the average native Mexican's abode, there was no sign of life. "Might as well make ourselves to home," said Ned. "Come on in, professor," he called. "We'll stay here all night. No use traveling further when there is such a good shelter right at hand." It was now quite dark, and the boys brought in the two oil lamps from the auto, as well as a lantern, to illuminate the place. As they did so they disturbed a colony of bats which flew out with a great flutter of wings. rural car part oil equipment night animal "There's a charcoal stove, and plenty of fuel," said Bob, as he looked at the hearth. "Now we can cook something." "Well, seeing you are so fond of eating, we'll let you get the meal," said Jerry, and it was voted that Chunky should perform this office. Meanwhile the others brought in blankets to make beds on the frame work of cane that formed the sleeping quarters of whoever had last lived in the hut. "Rather queer sort of a shack," remarked Jerry, as he sat down in a corner on a pile of rugs. "Seems to have been left suddenly. They didn't even stop to take the dishes, and here is the remains of a meal," and he pointed to some dried frijoles in one corner of the main room or kitchen. "Perhaps the people who lived here were frightened away," came from Ned. "Well I'm tired enough not to let anything short of a regiment of soldiers in action scare me awake to-night," said Jerry. Under Bob's direction supper was soon ready, and the travelers sat down to a good, if rather limited meal as far as variety went. There were no dishes to be washed, for they ate off wooden plates, of which they had a quantity and which they threw away after each meal. Then, after a good fire had been built on the hearth—for the night was likely to be chilly—the boys and the professor wrapped themselves up in their blankets and soon fell asleep. Jerry must have been slumbering for several hours when he suddenly awakened as he heard a loud noise. "Who's there?" he called involuntarily, sitting up. It was so dark that at first he could distinguish nothing, but, as his eyes became used to the blackness he managed to make out, by the glow of the fire, a shadowy figure gliding toward the door. "Who's there?" called the boy sharply, feeling under the rolled up blanket that served for a pillow, for his revolver. "Stop or I'll fire!" The shadowy figure halted. Then Jerry saw it drop down on all fours and begin to creep toward him. Though he was not a coward the boy felt his heart beating strangely, and he had a queer, creepy sensation down his spine. "What's the matter?" asked Ned, who was awakened by Jerry's voice. "Get your revolver, quick!" called Jerry. "There is some one in the hut besides ourselves! Look over by the fire!" "I see it! Shall I shoot?" asked Ned. There came a sudden crash, followed by a wild yell. "Help! Help! I'm killed! They are murdering me!" shouted Bob's voice. "They are choking me to death!" Bang! went Ned's gun. Fortunately it was aimed at the ceiling, or some one might have been hurt. "What's the trouble?" inquired the professor, who only just then awoke. "Robbers!" yelled Bob. "Brigands!" exclaimed Ned. "Some one is in the cabin!" cried Jerry. By this time he had managed to creep over toward the fire, on which he threw some light wood. The glowing embers caught it, and as the blaze flared up it revealed a big monkey tangled up amid the folds of Bob's blanket, while Chunky was buried somewhere beneath the pile. The beast was struggling wildly to escape, but Bob, in his terror, had grabbed it by a leg. "Stop your noise!" commanded Jerry. "You're not hurt, Chunky!" "Are you sure they haven't killed me?" asked Bob, releasing his hold on the beast, which, with a wild chatter of fear, fled from the hut. "You ought to be able to give the best evidence on that score," said Jerry, as he lighted one of the lamps. "The fellow tried to choke me," sputtered Bob. "I guess the poor beast was as badly scared as you were," remarked the professor. "It was probably attracted in here by the light and warmth. Well, we seem bound to run up against excitement, night as well as day." "The monkey must have knocked something over," said Jerry. "I was awakened by the sound of something falling." They looked and saw that the beast had tried to eat the remains of the supper, and had upset a big pot. "I was sure it was a man, at first," explained Jerry, "and when I saw it go down and start over toward me I was afraid it was some of those Mexican brigands that traveled with Vasco Bilette and Noddy Nixon, when those rascals were on our trail." It was some time before the excitement caused by the monkey's visit died down sufficiently to allow the travelers to go to sleep again. It was morning when they awoke, and prepared to get breakfast. "We need some water to make coffee," said Jerry, who had agreed to get the morning meal. "As chief cook and bottle washer I delegate Bob to find some. Take the pail in the auto." Bob started for the receptacle, and, as he reached the door of the hut he gave a cry. "What's the matter?" called Jerry and Ned. "There's a man out here," replied Bob. "Well, he won't bite you," said Jerry. "Who is he?" "Pardon, senors," called a voice, and then, into the hut staggered a Mexican, who bore evidences of having passed through a hard fight. His face was cut and bruised, one arm hung limply at his side, and his clothing was torn. "What's the matter?" cried Jerry. Before the stranger could reply he had fallen forward in a faint. "Bring some water! Quick!" called Ned. "Let me see to him! I have a little liquor here!" exclaimed the professor, kneeling down beside the prostrate form. Chapter IV. - News from the Mine (30-38) river night nationality navigation CHAPTER IV NEWS FROM THE MINE By the use of the strong stimulant the Mexican was revived. His eyes opened, and he sat up, muttering something in Spanish which the boys could not catch. The professor, however, made reply, and, at the words the stranger seemed to brighten up. He drank some water, and then, at the suggestion of Mr. Snodgrass the boys brought him some food, which the native ate as if he had fasted for a week. His hunger satisfied, he began to talk rapidly to the professor, who listened attentively. "What's the trouble?" asked Jerry at length. "It seems that the poor man lives in this hut," explained the scientist. "Night before last some robbers came in, took nearly everything he had and beat him. Then, driving him into the forest they left him. Only just now did he dare to venture back, fearing to find his enemies in possession of his home. He is weak from lack of food and from the treatment he received." The boys felt sorry for the Mexican, and, at Jerry's suggestion they gave him a sum of money, which, while it was small enough to the travelers, meant a great deal to the native. He poured forth voluble thanks. As the boys and the professor were anxious to get under way, a start was made as soon as it was found that the native was not badly hurt, and that he was able to summon help from friends in a near-by village if necessary. With final leave-takings the travelers started off. For several days and nights they journeyed north, toward the Rio Grande, which river separated them from the United States. Once they crossed that they would be in Texas. "And we can't get there any too soon," remarked Bob, one morning after a sleepless night, passed in the open, during which innumerable fleas attacked the travelers. It was toward dusk, one evening, about a week after having left the City of Mexico that the boys and the professor found themselves on a road, which, upon inquiry led to a small Mexican town, on the bank of the Rio Grande, nearly opposite Eagle Pass, Texas. health nationality navigation river animal night rural "Shall we cross over to-night or wait until morning?" asked the professor of the boys. "Probably it would be better to wait until daylight. I could probably gather a few more specimens then." This was something of which the scientist, who rejoiced in such letters as A.M.; Ph.D.; M.D.; F. R. G. S.; A. G. S., etc., after his name, all indicating some college honor conferred upon him, never seemed to tire. He was making a collection for his own college, as well as gathering data for four large books, which, some day, he intended to issue. "I'd rather get over on our land if we can," said Ned, and he seemed to voice the sentiments of the others. So it was decided, somewhat against the professor's wish, to run the automobile on the big flat-bottomed scow, which served as a ferry, and proceed across the stream. Quite a crowd of villagers came out to see the auto as it chug-chugged up to the ferry landing, and not a few of the children and dogs were in danger of being run over until Ned, who was steering, cut out the muffler, and the explosions of the gasolene, unconfined by any pipes, made so much noise that all except the grown men were frightened away. river rural animal risk car part gasoline sound There was no one at the ferry house, and after diligent inquiries it was learned that the captain and crew of the boat had gone off to a dance about five miles away. "I guess we'll have to stay on this side after all," remarked the professor. "I think—" What he thought he did not say, for just then he happened to catch sight of something on the shoulder of one of the Mexicans, who had gathered in a fringe about the machine. "Stand still, my dear man!" called the professor, as with cat-like tread he crept toward the native. "Diabalo! Santa Maria! Carramba!" muttered the man, thinking, evidently, that the old scientist was out of his wits. "Don't move! Please don't move!" pleaded Mr. Snodgrass, forgetting in his excitement that his hearer could not understand his language. "There is a beautiful specimen of a Mexican katy-did on your coat. If I get it I will have a specimen worth at least thirty dollars!" He made a sudden motion. The Mexican mistook the import of it, and, seemingly thinking he was about to be assaulted, raised his hand in self defense, and aimed a blow at the professor. It was only a glancing one, but it knocked the scientist down, and he fell into the road. "There, the katy-did got away after all," Mr. Snodgrass exclaimed, not seeming to mind his personal mishap in the least. This time the professor spoke in Spanish. The Mexican understood, and was profuse in his apologies. He conversed rapidly with his companions, and, all at once there was a wild scramble after katy-dids. So successful was the hunt that the professor was fairly burdened with the insects. He took as many as he needed, and thanked his newly found friends for their efforts. Matters quieted down after a bit. Darkness fell rapidly and, the Mexican on whom the professor had seen the katy-did invited the travelers to dine with him. He proved to be one of the principal men of the village, and his house, though not large, was well fitted up. The boys and the professor enjoyed the best meal they had eaten since leaving the City of Mexico. "Do me the honor to spend the night here," said the Mexican, after the meal. "Thank you, if it will not disturb your household arrangements, we will," replied the professor. "We must make an early start, however, and cross the river the first thing in the morning." "It will be impossible," replied Senor Gerardo, their host. "Why so?" "Because to-morrow starts the Feast of San Juarez, which lasts for three days, and not a soul in town, including the ferry-master, will work in that time." "What are we to do?" asked Mr. Snodgrass. "If you do not cross to-night you will not be able to make the passage until the end of the week," was the answer. "Then let's start to-night," spoke Jerry. "We went over the Rio Grande after dark once before." "Yes, and a pretty mess we made of it," said Ned, referring to the collision they had with the house-boat, as told of in "The Motor Boys in Mexico." "But I thought they said the ferry-master was away to a dance," put in Bob. "He is, Senor," replied their host, who managed to understand the boy's poor Spanish. "However, if he knew the Americanos wanted him, and would go for him in their big marvelous—fire-spitting wagon, and—er—that is if they offered him a small sum, he might be prevailed upon to leave the dance." "Let's try it, at all events," suggested Jerry. "I'm anxious to get over the line and into the United States. A stay of several days may mean one of a week. When these Mexicans get feasting they don't know when to stop." He spoke in English, so as not to offend their kind friend. It was arranged that Jerry and Senor Gerardo should go in the auto for the ferry-master, and summon him to the river with his men, who could come on their fast ponies. This was done, and, though the master of the boat demurred at leaving the pleasures of the dance, he consented when Jerry casually showed a gold-piece. He and his men were soon mounted and galloped along, Jerry running the auto slowly to keep pace with them. The five miles were quickly covered and, while half the population of the village came out to see the strange machine ferried over, the boys and the professor bade farewell to the country where they had gone through so many strange adventures. river animal slowness rural It was nearly ten o'clock when the big flat-bottomed boat grounded on the opposite shore of the Rio Grande. "Hurrah for the United States!" exclaimed Bob. "Now I can get a decent meal without having to swallow red peppers, onions and chocolate!" "There goes Chunky again," laughingly complained Ned. "No sooner does he land than he wants to feed his stomach. I believe if he had been with Christopher Columbus the first thing he would have inquired about on landing at San Salvador would be what the Indians had good to eat." "Oh you're as bad as I am, every bit!" said Bob. A Eagle's Pass, where the travelers landed, was a typical Texas town, with what passed for a hotel, a store and a few houses where the small population lived. It was on the edge of the border prairies and the outlying districts were occupied by cattle ranches. Nearly all, if not quite all, of the male population came down to the dock to see the unusual sight of a big touring automobile on the ferry boat. Many were the comments made by the ranchmen and herders. After much pulling and hauling the car was rolled from the big scow, and the travelers, glad to feel that they were once more in their own country, began to think of a place to spend the night. nationality rural plains animal pedestrian South "Where is the nearest hotel?" asked Jerry of a man in the crowd. "Ain't but one, stranger, an' it's right in front of you," was the reply, as the cowboy pointed to a small, one story building across the street from the river front. "Is Professor Driedgrass in that bunch?" asked a voice as the travelers were contemplating the hostelry. "If he is I have a letter for him." "I am Professor Snodgrass," replied the scientist, looking toward the man who had last spoken. "Beg your pardon, Professor Snodgrass. I kinder got my brands mixed," the stranger went on. "Anyhow I'm th' postmaster here, an' I've been holdin' a letter for ye most a week. It says it's to be delivered to a man with three boys an' a choo-choo wagon, an' that description fits you." "Where's it from?" asked Mr. Snodgrass. "Come in a letter to me, from a feller named Nestor, up at a place in the mining section," was the reply. "Th' letter to me said you might likely pass this way on your journey back." Chapter V. - Trouble Ahead (39-45) CHAPTER V TROUBLE AHEAD "I remember now, I did write to Nestor, telling him we were about to start back, and would probably cross the river at this place," spoke the professor. "I had forgotten all about it." "Well, here's your letter," said the postmaster. "Now allow me to welcome you to our city, which I do in the name of the Mayor—which individual you see in me—and the Common Council, which consists of Pete Blaston, only he ain't here, in consequent of bein' locked up for disturbin' th' peace an' quiet of the community by shootin' a Greaser." "Glad to meet you, I am sure," replied the scientist politely, as he received the letter from the dual official. river "What is the news from Nestor?" asked Jerry anxiously. "Is the mine all right?" "I'll tell you right away," replied Mr. Snodgrass, as, by the light of the gas lantern on the auto he read the letter. As he glanced rapidly over the pages his face took on an anxious look. "Is there anything wrong?" asked Ned. "There is indeed," replied the professor gravely. "The letter was written over a week ago, and, among other things Nestor says there is likely to be trouble over the mine." "What kind? Is Noddy Nixon trying to get it away from us again?" asked Jerry. "No," replied Mr. Snodgrass. "It appears our title is not as good as it might be. There is one of the former owners of the land where the mine is located who did not sign the deed. He was missing when the transfer was made, but Nestor did not know this, so there is a cloud on our title." car part visibility "But I thought we claimed the land from the government, and were the original owners," put in Ned. "It seems that a company of men owned the mine before we did, but they sold out to Nestor and some of his friends. They all signed the deed but this one man, and now some one has learned of this, and seeks to take the mine, on the theory that they have as good a claim to the holding as we have." "I should say that was trouble," sighed Bob. "To think of losing what we worked so hard to get!" "Well, there's no use crossing a bridge until you come to it," Professor Snodgrass went on. "Nestor and his friends are in possession yet, and that, you know, is nine of the ten points of the law." "Then if we can't do anything right away I move we have something to eat," suggested Bob. "It's a good suggestion," agreed the scientist. They had drawn a little to one side from the crowd of townspeople while talking about the letter from Nestor, but, having decided there was nothing to be done at present, they moved toward the hotel. "I reckon I've got some more mail for your outfit, Professor Hayseed—er I beg yer pardon—Snodgrass," said the postmaster-mayor. "There's letters fer chaps named Baker, Slade and Hopkins. Nestor sent 'em along with that other," and the dual official handed over three envelopes. "They're from home!" cried the boys in a chorus. And in the glare of oil lamps on the porch of the hotel they read the communications. The missives contained nothing but good news, to the effect that all the loved ones were well. Each one inquired anxiously how much longer the travelers expected to stay away, and urged them to come home as soon as they could. "Now for that supper!" exclaimed Bob, as he put his letter away. If the meal was a rough one, prepared as it was by the Chinese cook, it was good, and the travelers enjoyed it thoroughly. As they rose from the table a cowboy entered the dining room and drawled out: "I say strangers, be you th' owners of that there rip-snortin' specimen of th' lower regions that runs on four wheels tied 'round with big sassages?" "Do you mean the automobile?" asked Jerry. "I reckon I do, if that's what ye call it." "Yes, it's our machine," replied Jerry. "Then if ye have any great love for th' workin' of it in the future, an' any regard or consideration for it's feelin' ye ought t' see to it." "Why so?" "Nothin'," drawled the cowboy as he carefully pared his nails with a big bowie knife; "nothin' only Bronco Pete is amusin' his self by tryin' t' see how near he can come to stickin' his scalpin' steel inter th' tires!" "Great Scott! We must stop that!" exclaimed Jerry, running from the hotel toward where the auto had been left in the street. The other boys and the professor followed. pleasure cowboy nationality metaphor safety weapon car part They found the machine surrounded by quite a crowd that seemed to be much amused at something which was taking place in its midst. Making their way to the inner circle of spectators the boys beheld an odd sight. A big cowboy, who, from appearances had indulged too freely in something stronger than water, was unsteadily trying to stick his big knife into the rubber tires. "Here! You mustn't do that," cried Jerry, sharply, laying his hand on the man's shoulder. "Look out for him! He's dangerous!" warned some of the bystanders. "I can't help it if he is," replied Jerry. "We can't let him ruin the tires." "This is the time I do it!" cried Bronco Pete, as he made a lunge for the front wheel. Jerry sprang forward and the crowd held its breath, for it seemed as if the boy was right in the path of the knife. pedestrian pleasure cowboy weapon risk car part But Jerry knew what he was about. With a quick motion he kicked the cowboy lightly on the wrist, the blow knocking the knife from his hand, and sending it some distance away. "Look out now, sonny!" called a man to Jerry. "No one ever hit Pete an' lived after it." It seemed that Jerry was in a dangerous position. Pete, enraged at being foiled of his purpose, uttered a beast-like roar, and reached back to where his revolver rested at his hip in a belt. Jerry never moved an inch, but looked the man straight in the eye. "Here! None of that Pete!" called a voice suddenly, and a big man pushed his way through the crowd, and grabbed the cowboy's arm before he had time to draw his gun. "If you don't want to get into trouble move on!" "All right, Marshall; all right," replied Pete, the desire of shooting seeming to die out as he looked at the newcomer. "I were only havin' a little fun with th' tenderfoot." "You didn't appear to scare him much," remarked the town marshall, who had seen the whole thing. "You had your nerve with you all right, son," he added, to Jerry. "That's what he had," commented Pete. "There ain't many men would have done what he did, an' I admire him for it. Put it there, stranger," and Pete, all the anger gone from him, extended a big hand, which Jerry grasped heartily. "Three cheers for the 'tenderfoot,'" called some one, and they were given with a will for Jerry, as Pete, under the guidance of the marshall, moved unsteadily away. "I wouldn't have been in your boots one spell there, for a good bit," observed the postmaster as he came up. "Pete's about as bad as they come." "I didn't stop to think of the danger, or maybe I wouldn't have done as I did," said Jerry. "All I thought of was that he would spoil the tire, and it would take a long while to fix it." "Yes, and we don't want to delay any longer than we can help," spoke Ned in a low voice. "I'm anxious to get back to the mine and see what we can do to perfect our title." pleasure pedestrian risk car part Chapter VI. - On a Strange Road (46-54) storm animal rain risk forest CHAPTER VI ON A STRANGE ROAD For several days they made good progress, for the roads were in fair condition. The machine was kept headed as nearly as possible toward Arizona, though they often had to go some distance out of their way to get rid of bad places, or find a ford or bridge to cross a stream. road condition navigation bridge "We'll soon be out of Texas," remarked Bob one afternoon, when they had passed through a small ranch town where they had dinner. "And I think we're going to get a wetting before we leave the big state," put in Ned. "I think you're right," agreed the professor, as he turned and looked at a bank of ugly dark clouds in the southwest. "A thunder shower is coming up, if I'm any judge. There doesn't seem to be any shelter, either." South As far as they could see there was nothing but a vast stretch of wild country, though, far to the north, there was a dark patch which looked as if it was a forest. "It's coming just at the wrong time," remarked Jerry, who was steering. "I was in hopes the storm would hold off a bit. Well, we shan't melt if it does rain." And that it was soon going to pour in the proverbial buckets full was evident. The wind began to blow a half gale, and the clouds, from which angry streaks of jagged lightning leaped, scurried forward. At the same time low mutterings of thunder were heard. "We're in for it," cried Bob. scenery North driver wind lightning thunder storm The next instant the storm broke, and the whole landscape was blotted out in a veil of mist and rain which came down in sheets of water. Now and then the darkness would be illuminated by a vivid flash of fire from the sky artillery, and the thunder seemed to shake the earth. Jerry could barely see where to steer, so fiercely did the rain beat down. Fortunately they had time to put on their raincoats before the deluge hit them. The provisions and other things in the auto had, likewise, been covered up with canvas, so little damage would result from the downpour. storm rain visibility lightning thunder driver equipment safety "Look out!" yelled Ned suddenly to Jerry. "There's something ahead of us!" Jerry partially shut off the power, and, as the machine slowed down, he and the others peered forward to see what the object was. "It's some sort of an animal!" cried Bob, who had sharp eyes. "It's running along on four legs, right in front of the car!" "It's a bear, that's what it is!" shouted Ned. "A big black bear!" "Let me get it for a specimen!" exclaimed the professor, in his enthusiasm, not considering the size of the animal, nor the difficulties in the way of capturing it. "Let me get out! It's worth forty dollars if it's worth a cent!" passenger driver braking slowness visibility animal storm At the sound of the excited voices, which the animal must have heard above the roar of the storm, the bear turned suddenly and faced the occupants of the car. So quickly was it done that Jerry had barely time to jam on the brakes in order to avoid a collision. "Why didn't you run him down, and we could have some bear steaks for supper?" asked Bob. "Because I don't think it's just healthy to run into a three hundred and fifty pound bear with a big auto," replied Jerry. "We might kill the bear, but we'd be sure to damage the car." storm animal sound risk car part parking passenger The beast did not appear to be frightened at the sight of his natural enemies. Raising on its haunches the animal slowly ambled toward the stalled machine, growling in a menacing manner. "I believe he's going to attack us!" exclaimed the professor. "Let me get out my rifle!" But this was easier said than done. The weapons and ammunition were all under the canvas, and it would require several minutes to get at them. In the meanwhile the bear, showing every indication of rage was trying to climb up on the engine hood, despite the throbbing of the engine, which was going, though the gears were not thrown in. animal risk weapon equipment "Start the car and run over him!" exclaimed Bob. "Back up and get out of his way!" was Ned's advice to Jerry. "I've got to do something," muttered the steersman. Matters were getting critical. The storm was increasing in violence, with the wind lashing the rain into the faces of the travelers. The growls of the angry beast mingled with the rumble and rattle of thunder, and the machine was shaking under the efforts Bruin made to climb over the hood and into the front seat. passenger driver risk animal storm wind rain thunder sound "Hold on tight! I'm going to start!" yelled Jerry suddenly. He threw in the intermediate gear and opened wide the gasolene throttle. The car sprang forward like a thing alive. But the bear had too good a hold with his long sharp claws sticking in the ventilator holes of the hood, to be shaken off. "I should think he'd burn on the water radiator," said Ned. "His fur's too thick I guess," was Bob's reply. On went the auto, the boys and the professor clinging to it for dear life, while Bruin hung on, half crazed with fear and anger. risk car part skill driver gasoline animal speed "How you going to get rid of him?" shouted Ned above the roar of the storm. "I'll show you," replied Jerry grimly. Some distance ahead the steersman had seen a sharp curve in the road. It was dimly discernible through the mist of water. "Hold tight everybody!" shouted Jerry a second or two before the turn was reached. Then, suddenly swinging around it, at as sharp an angle as he dared to make and not overturn the car, Jerry sent the auto skidding. The next instant, unable to stand the impetus of the turn, the bear lost its hold on the hood, and was flung, like a stone from a catapult, far off to the left, rolling over and over on the muddy ground. passenger sound storm visibility rain skill animal car part "There, I guess it will be quite a while before he tries to eat up another live automobile," remarked Jerry as he slowed up a bit. Off in the distance they heard a sort of reproachful whine, as if Bruin objected to such treatment. Then the rain came down harder than ever, and all sight of the bear was lost. "Let's get out of this!" exclaimed Ned, as he felt a small stream of water trickling down his back. "Can't we strike for those woods we saw a while ago?" "I'm headed for them," spoke Jerry. "I just want to get my bearings. Guess we'd better light up, as it will soon be dusk." skill slowness sound animal rain storm forest After some difficulty in getting matches to burn in the wind and rain, the big search lights and the oil lanterns were lighted, and then, with four shafts of light cutting the misty darkness ahead of them the travelers proceeded. The roads seemed to be getting worse, but there was nothing to do except to keep on. Every now and then the machine would lurch into some hollow with force enough to almost break the springs. wind rain storm car part visibility oil road condition navigation risk "Hello!" cried Jerry suddenly. "Here are two roads. Which shall we take?" "The right seems to go a little more directly north," said the professor, peering forward. "Suppose we take that?" "Especially as it seems to be the better road," added Jerry. He turned the machine into it, and, to the surprise of all they felt the thoroughfare become hard and firm as the auto tires rolled over it. It was almost as smooth as asphalt, and the travelers were congratulating themselves on having made a wise choice. navigation road condition North car part asphalt All at once the rain, which had been coming down in torrents, seemed to let up. "I believe it's clearing up," said Bob. "No, it's because we've run into a dense forest, and the trees above keep the rain off," spoke the professor. The others looked about them and saw that this was so. On every side the glare of the lamps showed big trunks and leafy branches, while ahead more trees could be observed. "Why it's just like a tunnel in the woods," said Bob. "See, the trees seem to meet in an arch overhead." "And what a fine road it is," put in Ned. "An altogether strange sort of road," agreed Jerry. "Suppose we stop and look about before we go any further? I don't like the looks of it." rain storm forest scenery visibility metaphor road condition Accordingly the machine was brought to a halt, and the travelers alighted. They found it just as Bob had said, almost exactly like an immense tunnel in the forest. Beneath their feet the road was of the finest Macadam construction. "And to think of finding this in the midst of Texas," observed Jerry. "Some one built this road, and cut the trees to make this tunnel," remarked the professor. "I wonder what sort of a place we have stumbled into." "At all events it doesn't rain anything to speak of in here," said Bob, "and it's a good place to stay until the storm is over." parking metaphor macadam road condition forest storm Jerry, in the meanwhile had walked on ahead some distance. In a few minutes he came hurrying back. His manner showed that he had seen something. "What is it?" asked the professor. "Don't make any noise, but follow me," replied the lad. In silence, and wondering what was about to happen, Bob, Ned and the scientist trailed after Jerry. He led them several hundred feet ahead of the automobile, and away from the glare of the lamps, the tunnel curving somewhat. sound forest visibility "See!" whispered Jerry, hoarsely. "Well, I never!" "That's queer!" There, about three hundred feet to the left of the main road and on a sort of side path, the travelers saw a small hut, brilliantly lighted up. Through an open window, a room could be seen, and several figures moving about in it. Chapter VII. - The Rescue of Tommy Bell (55-64) CHAPTER VII THE RESCUE OF TOMMY BELL "I wonder who they can be, to hide off in the woods this way," whispered Bob. The next instant there floated out from the hut a cry of anguish. It was the voice of a boy, seemingly in great pain or fear, and the travelers heard the words: "Oh don't! Please don't! You are killing me! I don't know! I can't tell you, for I would if I could! Oh! Oh! Please don't burn me again!" "It's a gang torturing some one!" almost shouted Ned. "Let's go to the rescue!" He would have sprung forward had not Jerry laid a detaining hand on his arm. "Wait, Ned," counseled Jerry. "Some one there evidently needs our help, but we must go with caution. First we must get our guns. We may need them!" Once more the appealing cry burst out. "Quick!" whispered Jerry. "Professor, you and Bob go back for the rifles, and bring the bulls-eye lantern that has the dark slide to it. Ned and I will stay here and watch!" Mr. Snodgrass and Bob lost no time. In less than five minutes they had rejoined Ned and Jerry. "Has anything happened?" asked Bob. "Nothing since," whispered Jerry. "Now we will go forward. Every one have his gun ready. I will carry the lantern." Almost as silently as shadows the four figures stole forward, Jerry showing a cautious gleam now and then to guide them on their way. They found there was a fairly good path leading up to the hut. They had covered half the distance when once more the cries of anguish burst out. This time they were followed by angry shouts, seemingly from several men, and voices in dispute could be heard. "One of us had better creep forward and see what is going on inside the cabin," whispered Jerry. "We must know what sort of enemies we have to meet." "I'll go," volunteered Bob. "Better let me," suggested the professor. "I have had some experience in stalking animals, and I can probably advance more quietly than you can." They all saw the reasonableness of this and the scientist started off. Like a cat he made an advance until he was so close to the hut that he could peer into the uncurtained window. What he saw made him start back in terror. In the room were half a dozen roughly dressed men, all armed, and with brutal faces. The room was filled with smoke from cigars and pipes, and cards were scattered over a rough table in the middle of the apartment. But what attracted the attention of the professor and made his heart beat fast in anger, was the sight of a small, pale boy, bound with ropes up against a big stone fireplace, on the hearth of which logs were burning. In front of the lad stood one of the largest and strongest of the tough gang, and in his hand he held a redhot poker, which, as the scientist watched, he brought close to the bare legs of the terror-stricken lad. Then came again those heart-rending cries: "Oh don't! Please don't! I would tell you where he is if I knew! Please don't burn me again!" The professor's blood boiled. "We'll soon put a stop to this horrible work!" he exclaimed to himself as he glided back to where the boys were and quickly made them acquainted with what he had seen. "Come on!" cried Jerry. "We must rescue that boy!" As softly as they could, the travelers advanced toward the hut. They found the door and, while the others with rifles in readiness stood in a semi-circle about it, Jerry made ready to knock and demand admittance. "If they don't open the door we must burst it in," said the boy. "The professor and I will look to that, while you and Ned, Bob, must stand ready to rush in right after us with your guns ready. But don't shoot unless your life is in danger, and then fire not to kill, but to wound." There was a minute of hesitation, for they all realized that it was taking a desperate chance to tackle such a rough gang in the midst of woods, far from civilization. But the sound of the poor boy's cries nerved them on as, once more, the pitiful appeal for mercy rang out. Jerry sprang forward and gave several vigorous blows on the door with the butt of his gun. All at once silence took the place of the confusion inside the hut. "Who's there? What do you want?" asked a gruff voice. "Open the door! We want that boy!" cried Jerry. Confused murmurs from within told that the gang had been taken by surprise. "I don't know who you are, but whoever you are you had better move on, if you don't want a bullet through you," called the man who had first answered the knock. "This is none of your affair." "Open the door or we'll burst it in!" cried Jerry, knowing the best way to be successful in the fight was to act quickly and take the men by surprise. There was a laugh from within the hut. It was answered by a rending, crashing splintering sound as Jerry and the professor, using the stocks of their guns, began a vigorous attack on the portal. The door was strong enough, but the hinges were not, and, in less than half a minute the barrier had given way and, with a bound the travelers found themselves tumbling into the hut. Instantly confusion reigned. The men shouted hoarsely, and several tried to reach their guns, which were stacked in one corner. "Hands up!" commanded Jerry sharply, leveling his gun at the man who seemed to be the leader. "Why, they're nothing but boys! Knock 'em out of the way!" cried one of the gang. At the same time another began creeping up behind Jerry, his intention being to grab the lad from the back and disarm him. But Bob saw the movement, and, leveling his rifle at the fellow, told him to halt. "I guess you've got the drop on us," growled the man whom Jerry was covering with the gun. "What's the game anyhow? Are you stage robbers?" "We want you to stop torturing that boy," cried Jerry. "Why, that's my kid, and I was only givin' him a taste of the rod because he wouldn't mind me; 'spare the rod and spoil the child,' is a good saying, you know." "Not from you!" snapped the professor. "Is this man your father?" the scientist asked the bound boy. "Speak up now! Ain't I your daddy?" put in the leader, scowling at the boy. "Tell the truth! Don't let him scare you!" said the professor reassuredly. "We are in charge here now. Is he your father?" "No—no—sir," stammered the poor little lad, and then he burst into tears. "I thought so!" commented the scientist. "Now you scoundrels clear out of here before we cause your arrest!" "You're talkin' mighty high," sneered the leader, "but look out! This matter is none of your affair, and that boy belongs to us!" "Take me away! Oh, please take me away! They'll kill me!" sobbed the lad. There was such a fiery look in the professor's eye as he leveled his gun at the gang of men that they started back, evidently fearing to be fired upon. "Come on!" called one. "We'll get some of the Mexicans and then we'll see who's runnin' things around here!" With that the gang sneaked out of the door, leaving the boys and the professor master of the situation. Their first act was to unbind the lad, who was almost fainting from pain and fear. "Are there any more of them?" asked Jerry. "Yes," said the boy faintly. "There are a lot of half-breed Mexicans in the gang. They are in a hut about a mile farther up the road, where they keep a lot of horses on a ranch." "Then perhaps we'd better get out of here while we have a chance," said the professor. "We can't fight a score or more. Let's take the boy and hurry away." "Come on then," said Jerry. "We'll get back to the auto. I only hope these men don't discover it and damage the car." But when an attempt to start was made it was found that the boy, who said, in response to an inquiry from Ned, that his name was Tommy Bell, was unable to walk. The ropes bound about his legs had caused the blood to stagnate in the veins. "Here!" exclaimed Jerry. "Bob, you and Ned go ahead with the lantern, and the professor and I will carry Tommy. Step lively now!" Moving in that order the procession started, and in a few minutes the travelers were back at the machine, which did not seem to have been disturbed. There was no sight or sound of the gang. Tommy was made as comfortable as possible, and then there was a brief consultation. health equipment risk passenger "Which way had we better go?" asked Jerry. "I think it would be best to turn around," said Bob. "We'll run up against the gang if we go ahead." "The best road is straight ahead through this woods," spoke Tommy. "If you take the other your machine will get stuck." "Then we'll take this one, and trust to luck not to have any trouble with the gang," decided Jerry, as he cranked up the car. Just as they started the moon came out from the clouds, for the rain had ceased, and, though not many of the silver beams shone through the thick foliage, it was much lighter than it had been. Jerry threw in the gear and the next instant the car glided forward and shot along the tunnel of trees, leaving the hut where Tommy Bell had been a prisoner. navigation forest road condition night moonlight speed skill "Is the Mexican camp near this main road?" asked the professor of Tommy. "About three hundred feet in," answered the boy, who was feeling much better. "How many men are at it?" "About one hundred, I guess, from what I heard them say." "Then I guess we'd better go past it on the fly," muttered Jerry, as he speeded up the machine until it was skimming along at a fast rate. In a little while there was a gleam of light through the trees ahead. speed forest scenery visibility "There's the camp!" exclaimed Tommy. A minute later the travelers were made well aware of it, for, as they whizzed past in the auto, they heard shouts of anger, mingling with the sounds of rushing feet, while an occasional pistol shot rang out, the flash of fire cutting the darkness. "They saw us," spoke Bob. "Lucky it was pretty dark, or they might have damaged the auto." "To say nothing of ourselves," added Ned. speed sound risk visibility weapon Chapter VIII. - Pursued by Enemies (65-71) accident car part maintenance CHAPTER VIII PURSUED BY ENEMIES As the auto sped along, Professor Snodgrass asked Tommy Bell how he had come to the hut in the forest. "Those men took me there," replied the boy. "And what did they try to make you do?" asked Jerry. "They wanted me to tell them where my father was," went on Tommy. "I could not because I did not know, and they burned me, because they did not believe I was telling the truth." "What did they want of your father?" inquired Mr. Snodgrass. "They want him to sign some papers connected with some property," went on Tommy. "I don't know much about it, except that father used to work with those men developing a mine. It didn't pay, and they left it, after selling it to some other men. I lived with my father, and my mother was alive then." speed law health The boy stopped, and, at the mention of his mother's name began to cry softly. "Poor little lad," muttered the professor, putting his arm, with a sort of caressing motion about Tommy. "Don't cry, lad," the scientist went on, in what seemed a sort of husky voice, for he was very fond of children; "don't worry, we'll look out for you; won't we, boys?" "You bet!" exclaimed Jerry, Ned and Bob in one voice. The auto was slowed down now, as there seemed to be no danger of pursuit. safety slowness "After mother died," Tommy resumed, "and the mine did not pay, father started prospecting with Nat Richards and the others in that crowd. But they were bad men, and soon got the better of my dad, taking away what little money he had left. "This ruined my father, and he grew discouraged, for he was old, and in poor health. He wandered away and I haven't seen him for nearly a year. I traveled about, doing what little work I could get to do, until I struck Texas. One day, about a week ago, I passed a ranch, the same one we just came by. I asked for work, and got it. Then I found the same men owned it that had ruined my father. "As soon as Nat Richards saw me he demanded to know where dad was. I couldn't tell, and then he promised me one hundred dollars if I would tell. He said they needed my father's signature to a paper. "I don't know as I would have told them where dad was if I did know. When I kept on refusing to give them the information, Nat Richards grew ugly. He had me taken off to the hut where you found me, and said he'd starve me to death if I didn't tell. "I almost did die from hunger," Tommy went on with a catch in his voice. "Then they tried torture. They burned me on the legs with a hot poker. That's what they were doing when you came in," and, overcome again by the thought of all he had suffered Tommy cried bitterly. The boys and the professor did all they could to comfort the friendless lad, and, soon Tommy's grief wore off. "We'll take you along with us," said Jerry heartily, "and we'll try to help you find your father. Where did you see him last?" "He was in Arizona," answered Tommy. "That's just where we're headed for," exclaimed Bob. "We'll take you there all right." Jerry leaned forward to throw in the higher speed gear when there was a sudden ripping, breaking sound, and the auto began to slow up. navigation car part accident sound slowness "What's the matter?" asked Ned. "Stripped the gear, I'm afraid," replied the steersman. "This is a nice pickle to be in." "Won't it run on the low or intermediate gear?" asked Bob. Jerry tried them, and found they were all right. "I guess we'd better stop here for the night," he said. "We may need the high gear any minute, and perhaps I can fix it in the morning. I have a spare wheel." "Then let's camp and have supper," said Bob eagerly. "I haven't eaten in a week by the way I feel." "Same here! I agree with you for once, Chunky," spoke Jerry. "It has been a long time since dinner, but with the excitement of the storm, the bear, and rescuing Tommy I didn't notice it before." accident driver car part maintenance In a little while the camping outfit was taken from the automobile, and a fire started in the sheet-iron stove, with the charcoal that was carried to be used in emergencies, such as being unable to find dry wood after a rain. Ned ground the coffee, while Bob went in search of water, using the lantern to aid him in the somewhat dim forest, though the moon helped some. He found a spring close at hand, and soon a fragrant beverage was steaming under the trees. Then some bacon was placed in the frying pan, and the hard tack was taken from the tin and other things prepared. equipment night visibility "Fall to!" commanded Ned, who was acting as cook, and fall to they all did, with a will. "Do you often camp out and eat in the woods like this?" asked Tommy. "I think it's jolly fun," and the lad, who was about twelve years old, laughed for the first time since his rescue. He, too, was eating with an appetite that showed he needed the food. Jerry briefly related some of their travel adventures, at which Tommy opened his eyes to their widest extent. "Cracky! But you have had stunning times!" he exclaimed. The meal having been finished, they began to think of getting some sleep. Blankets were brought out, and rolling themselves up in them the boys and the professor were soon in the land of nod. It was nearly dawn when Jerry was suddenly awakened by the far off baying of a dog. At first he could not imagine what the sound was, and sat up to listen more intently. Then a long, mournful howl was borne to him on the wind. "That's strange," he muttered. "There are very few dogs about here. I wonder what it is." At the same time Tommy Bell roused up, and he, too, heard the sound. "It's the gang after us!" he exclaimed. "They have a lot of hounds on the ranch! Hurry up! Let's get out of this!" "Hark!" exclaimed Jerry, raising his hand. Then the boys heard, faint and far off, the sound of galloping horses. "They're coming!" cried Jerry. His cry awakened the others, who sat up bewildered and heavy from sound sleep. "Lively's the word!" called Jerry. "They're after us!" No further explanation was needed, for all knew what Jerry meant. There was a hasty piling of blankets into the auto; the stove was packed up, and, while the travelers jumped into the car, Jerry went in front to crank it up. The cheerful chug-chug told that the machinery was in good working order, and then, the boy, leaping into the steersman's seat, threw in the low gear for the start. sound animal risk night speed equipment skill As he did so Ned glanced back and saw, coming around the bend of the forest road a score of horsemen and a pack of dogs. "Speed her up, Jerry!" called Bob. "I will!" was the exclamation, as Jerry leaned forward to throw in the high gear. A mournful screeching of the engine was the only response. "I forgot! The high gear is broken!" the steersman cried. "We can only use the intermediate, and that is not very fast!" "It's the best we can do, though!" said Bob. "We may get away from them!" On the intermediate cogs the auto made good speed, and, for a while, distanced the gang, the members of which, with shouts of rage, put their horses to their best effort. animal risk skill sound accident car part Chapter IX. - Into the Cave (72-80) speed risk animal topograpy CHAPTER IX INTO THE CAVE The sun began to peep up from beneath the eastern hills, throwing a rosy light over the earth. The woods began to thin out, and the sides of the "tunnel," which had been dense, became more open, so that glimpses of the country could be seen now and then. The chase was now on in earnest. For some time, however, the auto kept well in advance of the horsemen, for Jerry used all the power possible on the differential gear. If the high speed one had been in working order there would have been no question of the outcome, but, for once, luck was against the boys. forest metaphor speed animal skill car part Nearer and nearer came the gang on horseback. They got so close that their shouts to halt could be plainly heard. But Jerry was not going to give up. He gritted his teeth and gripped the wheel with a firmer grasp. "We seem to be slacking up," observed Ned. "That's what we are," spoke Jerry. "The auto is going back on us." The car did seem to be dragging, and there was no excuse for it in the condition of the road, which was a fine level one. "The car needs repairing," said Jerry, "and the way I have to run it isn't the best thing in the world for it." "Do you think they'll catch up to us?" asked Bob. "I'm afraid so," muttered Jerry. "We are going the limit now." animal risk sound car part road condition maintenance speed The thunder of the horses sounded nearer and the shouts of the pursuing gang came more plainly on the morning breeze. The auto coughed and wheezed, seeming like a man who has run far and is about to collapse. The explosions became less frequent, and finally one of the cylinders ceased to work altogether, leaving only three in commission. "Now we're in for it!" muttered Jerry, as, by a hasty glance back he saw the men spurring their horses on. "You'd better give up!" one of the gang shouted. "Not yet, you scoundrels!" cried Jerry, as he advanced the sparkling lever to the final notch. This seemed to be the last straw to the auto engine, for with a dismal snort it stopped short. "This settles it," muttered Ned grimly. "We are done for." animal sound risk metaphor car part accident speed Fortunately, however, they were on a slight slope now, and the car, with the impetus it had gathered, began to glide down the hill under its own momentum. But the horsemen were not one thousand feet in the rear and were drawing nearer. There seemed to be no help at hand and there was every indication that the boys would fall into the hands of their desperate enemies. topography speed animal risk "How much farther can we go?" asked Tommy suddenly. "To the foot of the hill," replied Jerry. "Why do you ask?" "That's far enough!" exclaimed Tommy. "I guess we can escape them." "How?" "Steer straight for that dead pine tree," replied the young lad, "and when you get almost to it, make a wide turn to the right." "What good will that do?" "There's a big cave right at the foot of the hill," replied Tommy. "I know for I passed it as I was tramping toward the ranch. It is large enough to take in the auto, and maybe we can hold it against the gang." "Hurrah!" shouted Jerry, as he shifted the wheel to conform with Tommy's directions. "We'll beat 'em yet!" navigation tree topography Straight toward the dead pine Jerry aimed, and, as he came to the bottom of the slope, he saw an opening in the bush-lined side of the hill, that told him the cave was at hand. Into it, by a skillful turn, he steered the auto, and the machine, running in about one hundred feet from the opening came to a stop, just as the horsemen came dashing up, much surprised by the sudden disappearance of those they were pursuing. "We're safe!" whispered Ned. "Not yet," said Jerry. "We must arm ourselves," and he began to get out the rifles from the bottom of the car, and hand them around to his companions. navigation skill speed scenery animal risk weapon tree Outside the cavern, which was a natural one in the rocky side of the hill, there came confused shouts. "Where did they go?" they heard a voice ask. "Must have gone over some ledge and been killed," was the reply. "Then that settles it," said the first one. "That's just our bad luck!" Then came a curious cry, and, by it, the boys knew their hiding place was discovered. "Here are the tracks of the wheels!" the travelers heard some one shout. "They turned off somewhere about here." "Then they're in that cave," was the rejoinder. "Dismount!" came a sharp order. The boys could hear the men getting off their horses, and the animals being led away. "Get your carbines ready!" was the next command. sound scenery animal risk "It's time for us to act!" whispered Jerry. "We must each one take a gun, and stand at the mouth of the cave. We'll warn them not to enter. If they persist we will have to fire, but we must try not to hurt any one mortally. Aim at their legs!" In the half darkness of the cavern the boys and the professor each took a rifle and crept to the mouth of the opening. No sooner had they reached it than they heard the tramp of feet, and shadows told them the bad men were advancing. "Halt!" cried Jerry, who had naturally assumed command. "Who are you?" asked the leader of the gang. "Never mind who we are," replied Jerry. "We are in possession of this cave, and we warn you not to come in!" "Big words for a kid!" sneered the leader. "You'll find we can back them up," spoke Jerry. Then, in lower tones, he bade his comrades stand in readiness. There was a consultation in whispers among the members of the gang, and then, seeming to feel that they had nothing to fear, they made a rush. "Fire!" cried Jerry. Remembering his instructions, the boys and the professor aimed low. To the reports of the rifles there succeeded howls of pain. Several of the gang shot back, but, as it was dark in the cave they could not see to aim, and they did no damage. "Give them another volley!" yelled Jerry. Again the rifles spoke, and this time, to the chorus of howls there was added a command from the leader to retreat, and the men rushed from the cave, which was filled with smoke. "Are—are any of them killed?" asked Tommy. "I don't believe so," replied Jerry. "We fired too low to do much damage. I only wanted to let them know we were ready for them." Waiting several minutes to see if there would be any further attack, Jerry cautiously advanced to the mouth of the cavern. In the semi-light he saw several blood stains, but the absence of any bodies told him the battle had not resulted fatally, for which he was thankful. Though the men were desperate characters, who, perhaps, would not stop at murder, the boy did not want the responsibility of killing any of them. "They seem to have retreated," Jerry reported when he joined the others. "But I don't suppose they have gone for good. This probably will only make them more anxious to get Tommy away from us, for it is him they are after." "Do you think they want me?" asked the younger lad. "I am pretty sure, after what you have told us about the mine, that they would give a good deal to get you," replied Jerry. "Perhaps your signature may be as good as that of your father's in case—in case—" and Jerry stopped suddenly. "You mean in case dad is dead?" asked Tommy quietly. "Yes," answered Jerry. "I don't believe my father is dead," spoke the boy bravely. "Somehow I feel that he is alive, and that I will find him. But if the gang is after me, it is not right for you all to be in danger on my account. Give me up to them, I'm not afraid—that is, I'll try not to be. Let me go out and surrender, and perhaps they'll go away." "I'd like to see myself!" exclaimed Jerry. "You don't stir out of this cave, Tommy Bell, until we go! I'm not afraid of that gang. We've been in tighter places than this and gotten out; haven't we, fellows?" "You bet!" echoed Bob and Ned. "Then give me a gun and let me help fight," begged Tommy. "Can you shoot?" asked Jerry. "My father taught me," was all Tommy said, and Jerry gave him a rifle, at which Tommy's eyes sparkled. A cautious glance from the mouth of the cave showed that the gang had withdrawn some distance away. But that they had no notion of giving up the fight was evidenced by the fact that they were constructing a camp so as to command the entrance to the cavern. "I guess they're going to try and starve us out," remarked the professor. "Lucky we have plenty of provisions and ammunition on hand for a siege." "Well, I guess we're just as well off here as anywhere," observed Jerry. "We'd have to lay up a few days at any rate, to fix the machine, and it might as well be in a good roomy cave, where the rain can't wet us." The boys waited an hour before laying aside their arms. Then, as the gang showed no signs of renewing the attack, they proceeded to make themselves more comfortable. "Might as well get ready to camp out," said Ned. "I'll set up the stove, and we'll have breakfast, though it is a little late." maintenance weapon equipment So while he set up the sheet iron apparatus, Jerry instructed Bob to stand guard at the mouth of the cavern, and to give instant notice of any activity on the part of the enemy. "But what will we do about eating breakfast?" asked Bob in a sorrowful voice. "Don't worry about that, 'Chunky,'" said Jerry. "I'll relieve you, or some one will, in time to get a meal. In the meantime keep a good watch." Then Jerry went back to help Ned, and, at the same time, make ready to repair the machine. maintenance equipment Chapter X. - Attacked by a Cougar (81-89) maintenance risk animal car part CHAPTER X ATTACKED BY A COUGAR "I say, Jerry," called Ned, "we're in a sort of a pickle." "How's that?" "Why, I started to make coffee and I got along all right until I came to the water." "Well?" "No, it's not at all well. In fact we ought to have a well here." "What do you mean?" "I mean there's no water in the cave!" "Great Scott! Is that so?" exclaimed Jerry. "I never thought of such a thing. Are you sure there's not a spring away in the rear?" "The professor and I made a good search," replied the temporary cook. "The cave comes to an end about three hundred feet back, and there's not a sign of water." For a few seconds Jerry was silent. Then he gave an exclamation. "I have it!" he cried. "We can use the emergency water supply on the auto. It is not very fresh, but it will do for coffee." "The very thing!" ejaculated Ned. It was fortunate that the auto carried an extra tank of water, as well as one of gasolene. They had often found it useful in getting a supply of the fluid for the radiator in places far from a supply, and the reserve tank had been built with that purpose in view. It held about ten gallons. Drawing on this Ned had a supply for his coffee which was soon boiling merrily on the stove, while some canned chicken and bacon were put on to fry. car part gasoline equipment "I say, is anybody going to relieve me?" called Bob from his post on guard. He smelled the breakfast in preparation, and it added to his hunger. "I'll go," volunteered the professor. "I'm in no hurry to eat, and perhaps I may pick up a specimen or two. This cave ought to be a good place for them." Accordingly he took Bob's place, and soon the four boys were eating ravenously, and with as good appetites as if a band of bad men was not outside, ready to attack them at the first opportunity. "Now to fix the machine," said Jerry as he rose from the ground that served as a table. "Light all the lamps, Ned, and then you and Bob come and help me. Tommy and the professor can take turns standing guard." It was no easy matter to take the automobile engine apart, and substitute a new gear for the broken one. It was also found necessary to insert new spark plugs, which had become covered with a coating of carbon; and the cylinders also needed cleaning, while the pistons had to be adjusted. The afternoon was spent in working at the auto, and by night such good progress had been made that Jerry said by the next evening it would be in shape to start. maintenance equipment car part engine technology skill night "That is if the gang let's us," spoke Ned. "We'll make a dash for it," replied Jerry. "We needn't fear them with the car in good order, for we can leave them behind in less than half an hour. We'll try to escape to-morrow about midnight." "In the meanwhile let's eat," suggested Bob, and his cry brought forth the usual chaffing about "Chunky's" appetite. Ned started to get supper. He went to the tank of the auto to draw some water for the tea, when he gave a cry of surprise. risk night car part "What's the trouble?" called Jerry. "The water's gone!" exclaimed Ned. "That's a leak in the tank!" They all rushed to the car. There, on the ground under the reserve tank was a muddy spot, showing where the precious fluid had dripped away. A quick examination showed there was a small hole in the reservoir. "Now we are up against it," murmured Bob. "Not quite yet," said Jerry. "How can we get water without being shot?" asked Ned. "There is quite a bit left in the pipe coils of the radiator," answered Jerry. "It will be pretty poor stuff to drink I guess, but it's better than nothing." car part accident mud There was considerable of the fluid in the big brass radiator on the front of the car, and, though it was stale, and had been heated many times, as it circulated about the cylinders, still, it was better than none. Made into tea, which was served as a change from coffee, it did not taste so very bad. But the situation was grave. With only water enough on hand to last about half a day, the plight of the travelers was a critical one. "We'll have to have water for the car, as well as ourselves," spoke Ned. "We can't run the machine without water." "That's so," admitted Jerry dubiously. "Something will have to be done." car part equipment risk After the evening meal Jerry resumed his labors on the car, working at double speed, in which he was assisted by Ned and Bob. The professor and Tommy took turns watching at the cavern's mouth. But there seemed to be no need of this, as the men showed no inclination to make a second attack. They appeared to know that the boys were caught in a trap; a trap that contained no water. So they evidently felt sure of success sooner or later, and that without the danger of being wounded. maintenance speed Jerry and his comrades worked to such advantage that shortly after midnight the auto was in shape to be used, and with the new high gear wheel in place. The car was given a good oiling, and was repacked in readiness for a quick start. "Now if we only had water," sighed Jerry, "we could slip out, and, I believe get away." But he knew it was useless to proceed without at least a full radiator. The extra tank, which had been repaired, could be filled later. The radiator coils were empty however. What had not been used for cooking had been made up into weak tea, as it was not considered healthful to drink the water as it came from the pipes. maintenance midnight technology car part oil "We've got to do something," said Jerry decidedly. "If we stay here much longer we'll die of thirst. If we could only make a dash and get some water we could manage. Two pails full would do." "Let me go after them," exclaimed Tommy. "I'm not afraid. I can run fast. Maybe I can get out there by the brook, get the water and come back before any of them see me." "No you couldn't," spoke Jerry, pointing to where one of the men, as sentry, could be seen, from the mouth of the cave, walking up and down near the camp fire. "If any one goes I will, and I think I'd better start." Bob and Ned both offered to make the dangerous attempt, and the professor insisted that he be allowed to try, as he knew how to move over ground very silently. But Jerry was firm in his determination. "I'm going to make the try about two o'clock," he said. "They'll be sounder asleep then." As he was very tired he stretched out in some blankets until it would be time to make the try. He fell asleep soon, and the others moved away, talking in whispers lest they disturb him. Almost exactly at the appointed hour Jerry awakened. He sat up, and, slipping a pair of Indian moccasins over his shoes, to enable him to move as silently as possible, he cautiously approached the mouth of the cavern, carrying two water pails with him. The moon had gone down and it was quite dark, which was favorable to Jerry's plans. As he got to the entrance of the cavern the boy looked toward the gang's camp. There seemed to be no sign of life, and Jerry thought perhaps the sentry had fallen asleep. As silent as a cat the lad made his way toward the stream, which he could hear gurgling and splashing over the stones. His throat was dry, for the last of the cold tea had been drunk, and his exertions had made him very thirsty. As he heard the sound of the brook he felt a fierce desire for water, so strong was it that he felt he would brave anything to get it. Foot by foot he advanced, crouching down as low as he could. He was beginning to feel that he would be successful, and not be detected. He could see the sparkle of the water about three hundred feet away, and his parched mouth and throat seemed to be as dry as leather. He could hardly swallow. On and on he went. Now he was about two hundred feet away and he was getting ready to make a dash for the brook. Suddenly he heard a clicking sound, and knew it was a rifle being cocked. Next there rang out on the night air the command: "Halt or I'll fire!" Poor Jerry was detected! He came to a stop, sick at heart at the failure of his plan. For a moment there was no other sound. The boy could not see who had discovered him, though he instinctively felt the eyes of the man on him. Suddenly there was a shaking in the tree somewhat to Jerry's left, and about one hundred feet away. Then came a rustle of the leaves on the ground and the boy made out the figure of a man, dimly, standing with rifle aimed straight at him. "Throw up your hands!" was the next order, and, letting the pails fall to the ground, Jerry obeyed. Then, all at once, there burst out on the air a most terrifying sound. It was a blood-curdling yell, a screech as if from some one in mortal agony. Jerry felt the cold chills go down his back. The next instant there was a crashing sound, and, from the tree under which the man stood who had aimed at the boy a dark body shot downward. The screech of the cougar, for such it was, mingled with the terrific yells of the sentry. Jerry dimly saw a confused tangle of man and beast. He heard the man shout for help. He heard his rifle go off, and then came sounds that told that the camp had been aroused. The attack of the cougar had come just in time. Jerry, taking advantage of the diversion, grabbed up his pails, and running to the brook filled them with water. Then, as fast as he could go, he ran toward the cave. Chapter XI. - A Runaway Auto (90-97) speed maintenance car part night risk weapon CHAPTER XI A RUNAWAY AUTO Behind the boys sounded the yells and shouts of the men in camp, mingled with rifle shots and the screeching of several of the cougars, for, it developed, a band of three, grown desperate by hunger, had made an attack. "Are you hurt, Jerry?" cried Bob and Ned, as, with his pails of water, the boy staggered into the cave. "Not a bit, but I had a close shave," was the answer. "But we must be quick! Here! Help fill the radiator with the water." "Can't we drink any?" asked Bob who, like the others, was very thirsty. "Not a drop," said Jerry firmly. "We need every bit for the automobile. Without it we can't get away from here, and now is the only chance we may have to escape. We can drink later." animal sound risk speed car part While Jerry and Ned filled the radiator the other boys and the professor made ready for the escape. Everything was packed up and placed in the car, which, as soon as the coil was filled, would be ready to start and dash from the cave. "I'm afraid this is not going to be water enough," spoke Jerry as the second of the pails was emptied into the radiator. "Can't I make a dash for some more? There seems to be excitement enough in the camp to keep them from watching me," said Ned. "I'm going to try." maintenance equipment speed car part There was considerable activity among the ranch men. The cougars, though wounded, seemed to have temporarily lost all fear and made attack after attack on the men, who had to fire several volleys from their rifles. "Go ahead," said Jerry. "I'll start the engine slowly." Grabbing up the pails Ned walked from the cave. "I'm going to help, also," said Tommy. "No, you stay here," commanded Jerry. "Bob can go if he wants to." animal risk weapon equipment Bob joined Ned. They ran to the stream and had filled the pails when, just as they started on the way back, the wounded cougars, driven from the camp, came dashing after the boys. "Now we're in for it!" exclaimed Ned. "Run, Bob!" And run they did, as they had never run before, and left the beasts behind. "Have you the water?" asked Jerry eagerly as the boys came in. "We have!" exclaimed Bob. "And hard enough work we had getting it." "Good!" Jerry hurriedly poured most of it into the radiator, though every one in the cave looked at the fluid with longing eyes. "I must get a drink soon, or I shall go half crazy!" said the professor suddenly. "I never was so thirsty in my life." "I'm saving just a little bit for each of us," spoke Jerry. "But it is a very small quantity, and will only serve to wet our mouths. If all goes well we shall soon have plenty." He distributed about a pint of the water among his companions, and though each one got only a little it brought welcome relief. maintenance car part "Now we're ready to skip out!" announced Jerry as he screwed the cap on the radiator tank, and increased the speed of the engine. "But first we had better take a look outside to see if any of that gang are in sight." The professor, who had good eyes, went to the mouth of the cave, and, coming back, reported that he could see a dark mass moving on the further bank of the stream. car part speed engine "They have evidently gotten over their scare about the cougars," Mr. Snodgrass said, "and are waiting to bag us. What are we going to do?" "There's only one thing to do," replied Jerry. "And that is what?" "We must make a dash for it. The road is fairly good, and I guess we can speed up enough to get out of the range of their bullets in a short time. They can't be very good shots or they would have killed the three cougars, with all the bullets they fired." So it was decided. They all took their places in the car, and Jerry, who, as if by mutual consent, assumed the place of steersman, leaned forward to throw in the gear clutches. "Here we go!" he cried. "Look out everybody!" risk road condition speed driver passenger car part skill Slowly at first, but gathering speed, the auto moved out of the cave. The lamps lighted up the path, and, though the boys realized that the lanterns disclosed their position to their enemies, they had to use them for their own safety. It was too dark to do without them. A few seconds later and the car emerged from the cavern. As it shot out there came a chorus of angry cries from the camp of the ranchmen, and several shots were fired, though none of them came close enough to be uncomfortable. slowness car part visibility risk night speed sound weapon "Here we go!" cried Jerry again, as he increased the speed, and the auto fairly leaped forward. It swayed from side to side, and struck several ruts, so that the occupants were tossed about. But the main thing was that they went ahead, and away from their enemies. Jerry, peering as best he could into the darkness ahead, made a course for the stream, intending to go close to it, and then run along the bank, or near it, as he had noted in the afternoon that there was a fairly good road there. speed skill risk navigation visibility night river road condition Gradually the shouts of the men, and the firing of their guns died away, and the travelers began to breathe more freely. They had made their escape, and, for the present, were safe. "Oh do let's stop and get a drink!" pleaded Bob. "Not yet!" exclaimed Jerry. "Five minutes more will not kill you, and it may save all our lives," for he did not want to slack up while there was any danger of the ranchmen coming after them. The five minutes seemed like an hour to Bob, and the others, too, were impatient. But at last Jerry shut off the power and the machine came to a halt not far from the creek. Out scrambled the boys and the professor, and then, in spite of the danger of drinking snakes and lizards in the darkness, they all made for the stream, where they quenched their thirst from small collapsable cups which each one had been holding in readiness for just that chance. sound weapon risk speed parking river equipment "That's better than an ice cream soda!" exclaimed Ned. "You bet!" agreed Bob heartily. "I never tasted such fine water." "Very good!" said the professor. "I guess we can stop long enough to lay in a supply now," remarked Jerry. "We can start off again in five minutes, and in that time they can not catch up to us." So the radiator was filled to the top, and the auxiliary tank likewise, while the boys indulged freely in the liquid, thinking, perhaps, they might have some of the characteristics of the camel, and could drink enough at one time to last a week or more. Then they started forward again, and the auto soon carried them beyond the possibility of capture that night. They camped out in the open, and, in spite of their rather exciting adventures they slept soundly, awaking as the sun rose. maintenance car part night pleasure Ned was given a chance to run the machine, and he took the front seat with Tommy, who was delighted to be there for the first time. They had not been going long before they found the land was rising. "We're coming into the mountains now," said Jerry. Up a long hill, with a gradual assent, puffed the auto. On either side were broad fields where tall Pampas grass was growing, amid which thousands of grasshoppers, or some similar insect, were singing. "Better be sure your brake is in good working order," suggested Jerry, as they came to the steep descent on the other side. "We don't want any more accidents." driver passenger mountain topography scenery car part risk Ned tried the ordinary brake. There was a clicking sound, followed by a snapping one. "Brake's busted!" exclaimed Jerry. "Try the emergency!" Ned did so. That, too, gave out only a faint screech, and did not grip the axle as it should. "Look out now!" yelled Jerry. "We're in for it!" An instant later the auto began to move forward at a rapid pace. All Ned's efforts to check it were in vain. "We're running away!" cried frightened Tommy. "I wish I'd stayed in back!" "Keep to the middle of the road!" Jerry cried above the noise of the auto rushing down the steep hill. At the bottom the road took a sharp turn, and the hearts of all beat rapidly with fear as they beheld it. accident car part risk speed topography Chapter XII. - Tommy Finds a Friend (98-106) accident car part risk agriculture CHAPTER XII TOMMY FINDS A FRIEND So rapidly did the machine shoot down the descent that it almost seemed the curved road was rushing to meet the travelers. Again and again Ned tried the brakes, but without avail. He had shut off the power at the first indication that something was wrong. "We can never make that turn!" exclaimed Bob. "I'm afraid not," agreed Jerry. They were all clinging to the sides of the car, while Ned gripped the steering wheel with a desperate hold. "Look out for the turn!" cried the professor as they came to the sharp curve. speed risk car part driver passenger accident But, to the surprise of all, Ned, instead of shifting the wheel in at least an attempt to swing around the half circle kept straight on the course. The boy had resolved on another plan. Directly in front of him, and to the left of the road was a big field of tall waving Pampas grass, the plumes nodding eight feet above the ground. It was shut off from the thoroughfare by a frail wooden fence. "I'm going to steer into the grass!" cried Ned. "It's our only chance!" skill car part risk scenery agriculture speed plant The next instant there was a splintering sound as the auto crashed through the fence, which offered no more resistance, because of the great speed, than a paper hoop does to a circus performer. Then it seemed to the travelers as though they had been plunged into a tossing, waving sea of grass. The tall Pampas plumes and the stems wrapped themselves about the boys and the professor, almost choking them by the pollen that was shaken off. The feathery-like tops tickled them in the eyes, nose and mouth as, carried by the runaway auto, they were dashed through them. But the grass had just the effect Ned had intended and hoped for. It clogged the wheels of the machine, and though soft, offered so much resistance that the machine soon began to slow down, as does a locomotive when it runs into a snow drift. After plowing through the field for about two hundred feet the car came to a final stop, with a little jolt. sound accident speed agriculture risk plant skill slowness "Santa Maria! Caramba!" yelled a voice and then followed such a string of Spanish that the boys thought they had run down a whole camp of Mexican herders. "Did we hit any one?" asked Jerry, peering forward as well as he could through the tall grass. "Caramba! Hit any one! The Americano pirates have killed Don Elvardo!" exclaimed the unseen one. "You have broken—!" and then followed such a confusion of words that the boys could not understand. "Have we broken your leg?" asked Jerry, speaking in Spanish this time. "Santa Maria! No! You have broken the cigarette I just rolled!" and with that the grass parted in front of the auto, and a little Mexican, wearing a suit profusely trimmed with silver braid, showed himself. nationality risk health agriculture plant The boys felt like laughing as they beheld the woe-begone face of Don Elvardo. In his hand he held the remains of a cigarette. "Behold!" he went on tragically. "I am peacefully walking in my field, looking over my crop of Pampas, when I feel a desire to smoke. I sit me down and roll a cigarette. I am about to light it, when—Santa Maria! There is a rushing sound of ten thousand imps of darkness. My grass is mowed down as if by a sickle in the hands of a giant. I turn in fear! I see something coming! I can not tell what it is, for the tall grass hides it! I turn to flee! The infernal thing keeps after me! Presto! Caramba! It hits me so—" Don Elvardo illustrated by slapping himself vigorously on the thigh. "Then I fall! I am crushed! I am killed! I die in pain and fear! I arise! Behold, senor Americanos, my cigarette is broken!" "We're very sorry, of course," said Jerry politely. "But you see our auto ran away on the hill, and as the brakes would not work, the only thing to save our lives was to steer into this field. We did not know you were here, or we would have sent around to your house to ask permission to enter," added the lad sarcastically. "But I am here!" snapped the Mexican. "So we see," admitted Jerry. "We are willing to pay for any damage we have done." The Mexican's eyes sparkled, and he rubbed his hands as if in anticipation. accident car part agriculture pleasure "That alters the case," said Don Elvardo. "The Americano senors are welcome ten thousand times to my field. I bid you welcome. I salute you. Pay. Oh, yes! It is but right that you should pay!" Again he rubbed his hands together. "About what would you say it was worth?" asked Ned. "I am no miser," replied the Mexican. "I do not wish to insult my friends the Americanos. I will only charge them for the damage to the grass. The broken fence is of no moment. Pay me one hundred dollars and I will say no more about the affair." "He's a robber!" said Jerry in a low voice. "We haven't done five dollars' damage to his crop and the fence combined." "I guess he will whistle for his one hundred dollars," said Ned. Don Elvardo heard him. "So!" he exclaimed. "You will not pay me one little hundred dollars for the damage. Caramba! Then it is I who shall at once lodge a complaint with the authorities. We will see if there is a law in the land, or if crazy Americanos can spoil a poor man's crop and pay nothing. We shall see!" "Offer him ten dollars," suggested Bob. The boys consulted together a minute or two. They wanted to be fair, but they did not care to be robbed. The professor had taken no part in the discussion. He seemed to be intently examining the tall grass on either side of the machine. Suddenly the scientist stepped from the side of the car, and rapidly made his way to the front, where Don Elvardo stood. Mr. Snodgrass gazed intently at the Mexican. Then he gave a leap toward the Don, exclaiming as he did so: "There it is! Right on your hat! Don't move an inch or it will jump away! I have it now! This is indeed a lucky day! Just a second and I'll have it!" With that the professor made a leap toward the Mexican with outstretched hands. law agriculture plant speed "Santa Maria! Diavolo?" screamed Don Elvardo as he saw the scientist coming for him. "Caramba! It is to murder me that you come!" Then, calling for help at the top of his voice, the Mexican turned and fled in terror, his course being marked through the tall grass by the wave-like motion he imparted to the plumes in his haste. "Why—why what in the world ails him?" asked Mr. Snodgrass. "He probably thought you were going to choke him to death," said Jerry with a laugh. "In fact your actions were not so very far from giving that idea." "Why bless my soul!" ejaculated the professor. "All I wanted was to get a fine specimen of a blue grasshopper from his big hat, where the insect had alighted. It was worth about forty dollars." "I saw some just as good in a city once for twenty dollars," put in Tommy, "and they had more silver braid on." "What! A grasshopper with silver braid on?" cried the scientist. "I thought you said his hat was worth forty dollars," went on Tommy, somewhat embarrassed. "I was speaking of the blue grasshopper," explained Mr. Snodgrass. "My, I am sorry to have missed that one." "But you did a good service in scaring this Mexican away, as you did the chap with the ox cart," spoke Ned. "He might have made trouble for us." "And we had better get out of here while we have the chance," said Jerry. "He may come back any minute." Accordingly the auto was turned around, and run over the same course by which it had entered the field. Otherwise it would have been almost impossible to have advanced, so thick was the grass. The road regained, the machine was sent along it at good speed, for fear Don Elvardo or some of his friends might appear. "We had better stop and fix the brakes," suggested Ned, after an hour's run. "And get dinner at the same time," put in Bob. "We'll kill two stones with the same automobile, as the poem says." "I guess you're a little twisted," remarked Ned, "but your intentions are good." agriculture plant navigation maintenance speed A halt was made under a big tree, near a little stream, and soon a good fire was built and dinner was being cooked. It was found that some nuts had become loose on the brakes, and this trouble Jerry soon remedied. After the meal they sat about and talked a while. "We'll soon be in New Mexico," remarked Jerry, consulting a small map. "Will we?" asked Tommy. "I'm so glad." "Why?" "Because there's a man who was once a friend of my father at a place called Las Cruces. It's near the Rio Grande river. If we could go there I know Mr. Douglass would take care of me." "Then we'll go there," said Jerry. "It will be right on our route." tree river maintenance car part navigation map They all agreed this would be a good plan. That night the travelers stopped in a small village where they had good beds and meals. They resumed the journey next day, and for several days thereafter met with no mishaps as they speeded toward Las Cruces. They had left the lowlands and were well up among the hills by this time. One day, just at dusk, they rolled into Las Cruces and, after a little inquiry found Mr. Douglass, who was very glad to see Tommy. "I will be glad to take care of him for the present," he said. navigation speed topography Chapter XIII. - The Colored Man's Ghost (107-116) navigation rural African American CHAPTER XIII THE COLORED MAN'S GHOST The travelers found the town where Tommy's friend lived such a pleasant place that they spent several days there. It was a thriving place, and the auto was a source of endless wonder to most of the inhabitants, who had never seen one. Had the boys wished they could have made considerable money taking parties out in the car for short trips, but they knew they had a long journey before them and they wished to save the machine all they could. It needed some repairs which were made by the local blacksmith, and then the travelers were ready to move forward again. city rural pleasure mechanic maintenance "I don't know how to thank you for all you did for me," said Tommy, as the boys were leaving. "You saved my life. Maybe I will have a chance to do you a good turn some day. If I have, you can bet I'll do it." "We know you will, Tommy," said Jerry. "Well, good-by. I hope we see you again." "Same here!" exclaimed Bob and Ned. They did not know how soon they were to meet their friend again, nor in what a peculiar manner he was able to aid them in return for what they had done for him. For several days the auto skimmed along through a somewhat lonely country. The roads were not very good and a number of times progress was so slow that only a few miles were made between sunrise and sunset. Now and then the travelers would come to a lonely cabin, where they could replenish their food supply or get a night's lodging. But, in the main, they had to depend on their own resources. Occasionally they would reach a little settlement, where their arrival never failed to produce as much excitement as a fire and circus combined. Every day brought them nearer their gold mine, concerning which they were very anxious, as they had heard nothing further from Jim Nestor. navigation road condition slowness equipment rural pleasure "The mine may have been taken away from him for all we know," chafed Jerry as he fretted at the delay caused by bad roads. "We'll hope for the best," said Ned. "No use crossing a bridge until you come to it." The travelers were well up among the lower mountains now, though compared with the heights they had still to scale the range was one of mere hills. One evening just at dusk, after a particularly hard day of travel, during which the auto had broken down several times, necessitating minor repairs, the Motor Boys came to a place where two roads divided. road condition mountain maintenance navigation "I wonder which we had better take?" asked Bob, who was at the wheel. "The right," said Jerry. "The left," advised Ned. "Toss up a cent," suggested the professor. "Make it heads right and tails left." They did so. The coin came down heads up, and Bob turned the machine to the right. It had not proceeded far on this road when, about a mile ahead, the travelers saw a couple of log cabins. "Well, there's shelter for to-night, at all events," Jerry remarked, "and, I hope, supper as well. I'm getting a little tired of bacon and coffee." navigation driver passenger They found one of the cabins occupied by a negro, his wife, and seven children, the oldest a boy of sixteen and the youngest a little girl, just able to toddle. "Good evening," greeted the professor, "can we get supper and lodging anywhere about here?" "I reckon I kin fix yo' up on th' eatin' question, boss," remarked the darkey as he stood in the cabin door as the auto drew up, "but I 'clare t' goodness I can't find no room t' stable that there rip-snortin' beast ye got." "We don't expect you to take the auto in," spoke Jerry. "If you give us beds for ourselves, or even a room to sleep in we'll pay for it and glad to do it." parking rural African American "Land sakes, I'd like t' 'blige yo', deed 'n I would boss," went on the negro, "but my cabin am jest crowded t' th' doah wif me an' my fambily. Yo' am welcome t' suthin' t' eat, but land a' massy whar I'se goin' t' have yo' sleep hab got me cogitatin'." "What's the matter with that other cabin?" asked Ned. "What other cabin?" asked the negro, not turning to look in the direction of the second shack, about a quarter of a mile down the road. "That one," went on Ned, pointing to it. "There may be room in it." "Oh I reckon there's room enough," replied the colored man, "only—well to tell you th' truff, boss, it ain't exackly healthy t' sleep in that cabin, er even t' talk about it. 'Scuse me but I don't want even t' look at it." "Why not?" The colored man seemed to hesitate. He fidgeted and seemed ready to go back into his house. "Why not?" asked Ned again. "Kase it's--it's got ghosts an' it's hanted!" exclaimed the negro, "an' it ain't safe fer any one to go near it, let alone sleep in it." "Nonsense," remarked the professor. "There are no such things as ghosts." "Yo' wouldn't say so if yo' went to that there cabin after dark," persisted the colored man. "'Tain't safe t' talk about it, so yo'll please 'scuse me." "But what sort of a ghost is it?" asked Jerry. "It's big an' it's white, an' it rattles chains an' groans sumthin' turrible," said the negro. "Did you ever see it?" asked Ned. "Did I ever see it, boss? Couse I done see it. Only t'other night it near skeered me to deff." "How long has it been there?" asked Bob. "'Bout a week I reckon," replied the negro. "Ever since Rastus Johnson moved away from th' cabin." "I guess we'll take a chance with the ghost for the sake of spending a night under shelter," said Jerry. "Meanwhile we can get supper here." And a fine supper they had. Mrs. Jones, wife of the colored man, proved an excellent cook. She fried some chicken, made some corn bread, and that, with preserves and some good coffee, made up a meal which the travelers voted one of the finest they had eaten in many months. "Can we get breakfast here, also?" asked Jerry when supper was finished. "If yo' am alive," replied Jones solemnly. "If we're alive? What do you mean?" "Well I reckon ef yo' sleeps in that hanted cabin, there won't be any of yo' left t' want a meal in th' mo'nin'," explained Jones. "It's takin' yo'uns' lives in yo' hands t' go nigh it suah yo' is boahn!" All they could say did not induce the man to change his mind. He was plainly afraid of the cabin and the "ghost." But the travelers were determined not to let a little thing like that interfere with a chance to sleep under shelter. Accordingly they covered the auto with the tarpaulin provided for that purpose, and moved their blankets into the deserted cabin, which was fairly clean and in good condition. One of the big oil lamps gave sufficient light. The cabin contained only two rooms, one on the ground floor, and the other above it, reached by a movable ladder. "I think we had better sleep upstairs," said Jerry. "The door doesn't fasten very securely, and besides I think it will be drier there." equipment night visibility So they mounted the ladder, spread their blankets out on the floor, and were all soon fast asleep. None of them expected to be disturbed, for they laid the story of the ghost to an overwrought imagination of the colored man. So it was with a sudden feeling of terror that Jerry was awakened in the middle of the night by hearing a deep groan, seeming to come from the room below. He sat up, rubbing his eyes to further awaken himself, and then he became aware that Bob was also sitting up. He could see because of the moonlight streaming in through a window. "Did you hear anything?" asked Jerry. "I thought so," answered Bob. "I thought I did," put in Ned, who, it seems had been awakened at the same time the others were. Once more there sounded an unmistakable groan. It came from the ground floor, and was so loud, penetrating and, in spite of the would-be bravery of the boys, so awful coming out of the darkness, that they shuddered. "What's that?" asked the professor, who also, this time, was roused from his slumbers. Before either of the boys could answer the groan was repeated and this time it was followed by the unmistakable clanking of chains. "The colored man's ghost!" whispered Bob. "Nonsense!" exclaimed the professor, but, no sooner had he spoken than there came another weird noise, and the chains rattled louder than ever. "Light the lantern," whispered Jerry. "We must see what it is. Perhaps it's only some one playing a joke." "Let me take a look before you make a light," suggested the professor. "I can look down the ladder hole." Softly he crawled over to the opening and peered down. As he did so the noises were repeated. The professor uttered an exclamation. "It bears the other descriptive marks of the creature the negro told about," he said, crawling back to where the boys were huddled together. "It is big and white and it seems to be trying to climb up the ladder." "Wait until I get my revolver," whispered Jerry. "We'll soon see if it's a ghost or not." "Don't fire," cautioned the professor. "It may be some one trying to scare us, but we have no right to fire at any one." "I'll give 'em a warning, at any rate," said the lad. He went to the opening and called down: "Tell us who you are or I'll shoot, do you hear?" A groan and the clanking of chains was the only answer. This was followed by a violent agitation and shaking of the ladder. "Bang!" went Jerry's revolver. He had fired into the air. Succeeding the report there was a silence. This was broken by a further clanking of chains. Then came a crash, and when the echo of this died away the sound of feet running away could be heard. "Pretty solid footsteps for a ghost," commented Ned. "Look! Look!" cried Bob, pointing out of the window. There, running down the moon-lit road the boys saw a big white mule, to the neck of which was fastened a chain that rattled with every step. "There's the ghost," said the professor. "I thought I recognized the voice as that of a quadruped with which I was familiar. The animal has probably broken loose from the field and came here in search of food." "Well it certainly scared me all right," admitted Bob. The others did not commit themselves, but there was no doubt but that they had several heart-flutters. "I wonder what that crash was?" asked Ned. The professor glanced down the hole leading to the first floor. "The ghost made it by kicking our ladder away," the scientist replied. "I wonder how we can get down." But the boys did not worry about this, being too sleepy. Soon they were all snoring again, and did not awaken until the sun was streaming in the window. Chapter XIV. - Trouble With a Bad Man (117-126) rural navigation pedestrian risk CHAPTER XIV TROUBLE WITH A BAD MAN "This is a nice pickle!" exclaimed Bob, who was the first to rise. "What's the matter, lost your collar button?" sleepily inquired Jerry. "No, but the mule knocked the ladder down, and we'll have to jump or stay here." "It isn't far to the ground in this shanty," remarked Jerry. "Go ahead and drop down." "It may not be very far," said Bob, "but I don't want to take the chance." "Afraid you'll sprain your ankle?" "No, but I don't want to fall into the cistern." "Cistern? What are you talking about?" "Well," went on Bob, "there's a cistern right under this ladder opening. The mule pulled the cover off last night, and whoever drops down is going to land goodness knows where." The others soon confirmed what Bob had said. When the cabin was built a cistern had been sunk in the middle of the ground floor. This had been covered, and the ladder rested on it when the travelers went to bed, but the mule, probably in search for a drink, uncovered it. "Can't get down without a ladder," observed Ned. "What's the matter with jumping from one of the outside windows?" asked Jerry. They thought the idea a good one until they saw that the only one there was opened onto a pile of sharp rocks, into which even a jump of fifteen feet might be dangerous. "What's to be done?" asked Bob. "Guess we'll have to wait until Jones comes to see if we are dead," replied Jerry. "Then he can cover the cistern and raise the ladder." "I guess we'll have a long wait for Jones," commented Ned. "He's so afraid of this place that he'll never come within hearing distance of it." "Let's yell out of the window," suggested Bob. They did so, uniting their voices in a volume of sound. It seemed to have no effect though, for there was no movement about the colored man's cabin. "Once more," urged the professor. This time they produced a result, for, down the road they could see Jones come to the door of his shack and peer out. Thereupon they waved their hands to him, and in a few minutes the colored man was standing as close as he seemed to dare to come to their shelter. "Is yo' all daid?" he asked in awed accents. "Not quite all of us," answered the professor, "but we will be unless you come in and hoist the ladder for us." "Did th'—th' ghost knock it down?" asked Jones. "It did," replied Bob, solemnly. "I knowed it! I knowed it! Maybe you'll believe me next time. Golly! I ain't goin' t' stay here," and Jones was about to run off down the road. "Here! Come back!" commanded the captives, and the colored man reluctantly did so. "I doan laik t' stay round yeah!" pleaded the negro. "'Tain't no ways healthy. What yo' done want, anyhow?" "We want you to hoist the ladder for us," said the professor. "Come now, don't be silly. The only ghost there was, and we saw it, was an old white mule with a chain on its neck." "Co'se it were! Dat's de form it took when I seed it!" cried Jones. "But it can take on any shape, dat ghost can. Next time it'll be a lion er a tiger er a elephant. Monstrous terrible things, ha'nts is. So de ghost done knocked de ladder down! I knowed it would do suthin'." Amid a show of genuine fear the colored man entered the cabin, and after replacing the cistern cover cautiously raised the ladder. Then he ran out as if the ghost were after him. "I guess we'll never be able to convince Jones that there isn't a ghost here," said Jerry as they came down and started down the road toward the colored man's cabin, where they were to have breakfast. "Here's something that may prove to him that the mule was the ghost," spoke Ned, picking up a horse shoe, which was on the cabin floor. They showed it to the negro, but he only shook his head. "It looks like a hoss shoe, dat I admit," said Jones, "but it's enchanted. It'll turn inter a snake er a tiger er suthin' terruble 'fore long. I don't want nothin' t' do with it," and he cast it into the bushes by the side of the road. The excitement of the night had taken none of the travelers' appetites away, and they made a good meal. Then, once more they took the road, disappearing in a cloud of dust, while Jones, his wife, and the seven children stood and stared in wonder. They traveled all that day with only an occasional glimpse of civilization in the shape of some house or cabin. No villages were reached, it being a centre of vast grazing lands, where only a lonely herder, or, perhaps two, remained to guard the cattle. That night they camped in the open, and found it rather uncomfortable, for it began to rain about midnight. "I wish we were back in the cabin, with the ghost-mule and everything else," muttered Jerry, as he tried to find a dry spot to lie down on. dust rural night rain But troubles can not last forever, and morning came finally, bringing a clear day and a bright sun which was very welcome. Breakfast over they took the road once more. About noon they came to a small town that boasted of what was called the "Imperial Hotel." "I suppose we'd better try the Imperial," suggested Ned. "It don't look very scrumptious, but you can't always tell by the appearance of a toad how far he can jump." The auto drew up in front of the inn with a noise that brought a score of men from the barroom. "Jumpin' Gila Monsters and rattlesnakes!" cried one of the men, evidently a miner from his dress. "I've read about them Satan go-carts, but I never believed in 'em. Sakes alive, but they do look funny without a hoss in front." sunshine city class He and the others gathered about the car, asking so many questions that it took all the boys and the professor as well to answer them. When curiosity had been partially satisfied the boys went into the hotel. While there was nothing to make a weary traveler glad he had found it, the place was not as bad as many where the Motor Boys had stopped. They had a good meal, and decided to rest a few hours before proceeding. It was along about three o'clock. The crowd of men in the barroom had become larger as new comers arrived. It was also noisier and loud voices, and occasional threats to shoot, made the travelers think it was about time to move on. pedestrian sound risk city They were about to go to their machine when they were approached on the porch where they were sitting, by the miner who had first remarked about the auto. He had evidently been drinking more than was good for him, and was in a quarrelsome mood. "If you don't want to play with me you needn't," he called, evidently to some one inside. "I can find some one to shuffle the cards with me. Here, you kid"—to Jerry, "you come an' we'll have a little game." "Thank you, I don't play," said Jerry quietly. "What's that?" came the sharp return. "I said I didn't play." "Why hang my buttons! You got to play when I tell you to," cried the miner. "Pete Simmons ain't used to bein' told no. Here, sit down to this table an' deal the cards," and he grabbed Jerry by the arm, and attempted to force him into a chair. class risk rural city "Let go my arm!" exclaimed Jerry. "You do as I tell you or I'll make you!" exclaimed the brute. "I'm used to havin' my way!" "Take your hand off!" commanded Jerry, drawing back his fist, for he was strong and hot tempered. "Now be nice, be nice!" sneered the man. "Let go of him!" exclaimed Ned coming forward and standing beside his chum, while Bob also ranged up alongside. "We'll all take a hand in this if you force us to." "I can tackle the three of you with both hands tied behind my back," cried the miner, flushing with anger at being defied by the boys. "Count me in too," spoke Professor Snodgrass, joining the lads. "I don't want to fight, but I will if I have to." Now the professor, though a mild man, was, by reason of his out-of-door life, in fine physical condition, and no mean antagonist, which fact the miner saw. "Oh well, I was only foolin'," the ugly chap remarked with a poor attempt at a smile. But his face showed his rage. He moved away in a few seconds, and shuffled to the end of the porch, where he soon fell asleep on a bench. Bob looked over and saw him, as the boys were discussing the program for the remainder of the day. "Let's play a trick on that brute," said Bob. "What kind?" asked Jerry. "You watch," replied Chunky. "You'll see some fun." Now it happened that the professor had among his collection of specimens several large stuffed snakes, for he was an expert taxidermist. There were also several horned toads and big lizards. Bob got several of the ugliest ones and, with the aid of the scientist, who entered into the plan to pay a well deserved lesson to the miner, arranged the things about the sleeper, on the bench and on the floor of the porch. By this time most of the crowd at the hotel was aware what was going on, and, as few of them had any too much love for Simmons they waited the outcome with interest. When the reptiles were placed in a circle about the sleeping miner, one of the men fired his revolver in the air. At the sound Simmons awoke. At first he did not notice the reptiles, as he was on his back, staring up at the sky. Then he suddenly sat up, and caught a glimpse of the ugly looking things. For a moment he seemed to be in doubt as to what he beheld. Then he let out a yell that could have been heard almost a half mile. "Wow!" he cried. "Take 'em away. I'll never drink another drop! Honest I won't! Oh! Oh! the horrible snakes! I'll shut my eyes so I can't see 'em!" But when he opened them again the reptiles were still there. "Oh! Oh! I see 'em still!" he yelled. "Take 'em away, somebody, please do. Oh I forgot! They ain't real! I only imagine I see 'em!" He got up on the bench and was dancing about in terror. Then he drew his revolver, and was about to fire into the midst of the snakes. "He'll ruin my specimens!" cried the professor. One of the men ran forward, and began collecting the reptiles. Simmons saw them being gathered up, and noticed that they were not wiggling. Then the truth of it dawned on him, and he knew he had been fooled. His companions laughed loud and long. But Simmons, unable to stand the jokes and jibes he knew would be poked at him, leaped over the porch railing and ran down the road as fast as he could go. "Serves him right!" was the general verdict. Chapter XV. - The Story of Lost Lake (127-134) animal risk weapon CHAPTER XV THE STORY OF LOST LAKE The trick Bob had played seemed to be much appreciated among the crowd of miners and herdsmen who were gathered at the hotel. They laughed loud and long over the sight Simmons had presented. "I guess he'll know better than to fool with the next lad that comes along in one of them choo-choo wagons," was the hotel proprietor's comment. Bob gathered up the specimens that belonged to the professor and they were put in the car, together with a fresh supply of provisions that were purchased at the village store. pleasure pedestrian animal car equipment "I guess we'll be traveling," suggested the professor. The boys agreed with him, for though they knew the pleasures of sleeping beneath a roof, yet the character of the men who stayed at the hotel was so rough that they feared further rows. So, in spite of the entreaties of the hotel keeper they started off, having inquired the best roads to take. navigation risk rural Through the afternoon they bowled over a well elevated table land. The air was fine and bracing. Off in the distance to the west could be seen the first ranges of the big mountains. "That's where our mine is," said Jerry, his eyes shining. "Maybe it isn't ours after all," put in Bob. "Now there you go, Chunky. What do you want to call up unpleasant subjects for?" asked Ned reproachfully. "Anyhow it's our mine until some one takes it away from us, and I guess they'll have quite a fight, with Nestor on guard." topography pleasure mountain The others thought so too. Jerry, who was steering, was sending the auto forward at a fast clip, when the professor, who always had his eyes open called out: "What's that just ahead of us? Looks like a bear." "Where?" asked Ned. "Right in line with that big rock," went on the scientist, who had very good eyes and could see a long distance. "It's only a tree stump," spoke Bob. "I didn't know tree stumps could move," went on Mr. Snodgrass, "for this one is certainly coming toward us. It's not a bear after all," he continued, now that the object was nearer. "It's a bull! That's what it is! It looks as if it meant to go for us!" driver speed vision animal The boys could now see that the beast was one of the big, long-horned western cattle. It had evidently strayed from the herd, or had been made an outcast because of a bad temper and a perpetual desire to fight. The latter seemed more likely, for, as the auto proceeded, and the bull came on, lessening the distance between the two, a defiant bellow of rage sounded. "I hope he don't try to ram us," spoke Jerry. "We don't want any more collisions." "See if you can't run away from him," suggested Ned. animal risk car speed By this time the bull was about one hundred yards away. It was coming straight for the auto. Jerry opened the muffler and at the sound of the explosions the bull stopped short. At this point the road ran in a sort of depression, with hills rising on either side. It was rather narrow, so there was no chance to turn to one side. Jerry had to bring the machine to a stop or else run the risk of hitting the bull. He thought the animal might run away if it saw the machine coming toward him, but there was nothing sure about this. animal risk car part sound topography "Well, this is a regular hold-up," said the professor. "I wonder whether the bull wants to collect toll?" The animal seemed to be growing angrier and angrier every minute. It bellowed loudly, pawed the earth with its hoofs, and shook the lowered head, armed with sharp horns. Occasionally the keen points would tear up the ground. "I wouldn't want him to strike one of our tires," remarked Ned. "It would be all up with it." "Hurrah! I have it!" cried Bob at length. He dove beneath the rear seat and pulled up a shining object. "The ammonia squirt gun!" he exclaimed. "The same we used on the hold-up tramps. Give the bull a dose of it!" "Good idea," commented Jerry. animal risk sound car part equipment weapon The bulb of the automatic pistol was still filled with the fiery liquid, for the boys kept it loaded in readiness for use. Bob handed it over to Jerry. The latter took careful aim, and pressed the rubber. A fine stream of the powerful stuff struck the bull full in the face. With a bellow that fairly shook the ground near-by the bull reared up in the air, and coming down on all fours snorted with rage, shook its head to rid its eyes of the terrible burning, and then dashed madly away. equipment weapon animal risk "Now I guess we can get past," remarked Bob, "and get some supper. I'm as hungry as a bear." A good fire was soon started and Ned began to prepare the meal. While the others were setting out the dishes, or getting ready for the night camp, since it seemed there was no place for shelter in the neighborhood, the travelers were startled by a voice: "Evenin' strangers," called a tall, thin man who strolled down the slight hill at the foot of which the party were encamped. "Have you got a bite to spare?" "Plenty," replied the professor cheerfully. "Come right along. Supper will be ready in a little while. Are you hungry?" "Hungry? I should say so. I haven't had a bit to eat for two days, except what berries and old nuts I could gather." "What's the matter? Get lost?" asked Jerry. "Exactly," replied the stranger. "My name's Johnson," he went on. "I was prospecting up in the hills, and got lost there." "Anybody with you?" asked Ned. "Nary a soul; I'm all alone. I used up the last of my grub in trying to find the trail, and I guess I'd been looking for it yet if I hadn't heard the noise of your steam engine here, and smelled the cooking. I s'pose you're huntin' for it, same as me." "Hunting for what?" asked the professor, struck by Johnson's manner. "Why Lost Lake, to be sure. Nobody comes out this far unless they're huntin' for the lake, but you're the first to come in a steam car without rails." "Well, it's a free country," remarked the scientist, wishing to evade giving a direct answer, in the hope of learning something. "I guess we have a right to hunt for the lake." "Of course, of course you have, strangers," went on Johnson. "No offense. Have you struck a trace of it yet?" "Not yet," replied Mr. Snodgrass. "To tell you the truth," the professor went on, "we don't know much about this lost lake." "Nor no one else," said Johnson. "I'll tell you all I know, which isn't much. I've been looking for it 'most a year now." "Suppose we have supper first," suggested the professor as he noted the eyes Johnson was casting at the food. "We can talk afterward." "That's the best word I've heard in a good while," said the newcomer. He ate with a rapidity that left no doubt about his hunger. Nor were the others far behind him, as the crisp air of the mountain region had given them all famous appetites. "Now for Lost Lake," spoke Jerry when all had their fill. "It's supposed to be in those mountains over there," began Johnson, pointing to the range off in the west, now dimly discernible in the dusk. "It's said to be a beautiful sheet of water, with high peaks all around it. It was discovered forty years ago by a prospector, and he came to the nearest village with the news. But when he went to lead a party back they couldn't find the trail. Ever since then people have tried to find Lost Lake, but no one has ever succeeded. Many have been killed trying." "But why does any one want to find a lake hidden in the mountains?" asked Mr. Snodgrass. "Yes, tell us?" asked Ned. "Why, for the gold on its banks, of course," said Johnson. "Didn't I say that? I meant to. The man who discovered it said there were pebbles of gold on the shores. He brought back a pocket full to prove it. I got the fever quite a few months ago, but nothing has come of all my efforts, and this time I nearly died. It was terrible up in the mountains. There's not a soul there I believe." "And you didn't even get a glimpse of the lake?" asked Ned. "Nary a look, young man. But I'm sure it's there. I'm going back to town, get a new outfit and some provisions, and have another try." He was another example of how the gold fever grips one. "Maybe we'll come across the lake, though we're not looking for it," said Jerry. "Maybe you will," assented the prospector. "That's generally the way. The first man was not hunting for it, but he came upon it one night when the moon was shining. If you do find it, look out for the old hermit, that's all." Chapter XVI. - A Lonely Cabin (135-143) animal health risk CHAPTER XVI A LONELY CABIN "What hermit?" asked Jerry. "Why you haven't heard half the story of Lost Lake," went on Johnson. "There's supposed to be a sort of wild man who lives on the shores of the lake, and he murders travelers. At least that's the yarn they tell." "Was the hermit always there?" asked Ned. "No, only the last few years," replied Johnson. "He is said to be an old man with white hair. But I don't believe that part. Let me find the lake and the gold, and I won't worry about hermits." The prospector camped with the travelers that night. They were all up early the next morning, and, at the professor's suggestion the boys gave Johnson plenty of provisions to last him until he could get back to civilization. "Maybe you would like to go along with us and look for the lake?" suggested Bob. "No, thank you," replied Johnson. "I'm afraid your chances of finding it are slimmer than mine are. I'll have another try all by myself. I'm much obliged for the help you've given me." Then, shouldering his pack, he started off down the trail, while the travelers, packing their things in the auto, set forward again. equipment car The boys talked about little save the story of Lost Lake, but the professor was too busy arranging his latest specimens to join in the conversation. "I'd like to find it and see the wild hermit," said Bob. "I don't s'pose you'd care anything about the gold," put in Ned. "Of course I would," replied Bob. "But we've got one gold mine now, what do we want of another?" "It might be well to have a second in case we lose the first," Jerry ventured. "Nothing like having plenty while you're at it." "I wouldn't like to be a hermit," went on Bob. "Think of always being hungry." "Chunky is thinking of misers, I guess," laughed Ned. "There's nothing to prevent a hermit from living off the fat of the land. If it wasn't for being lonesome I'd be a hermit for a while." "Stop the auto!" called the professor suddenly. "I just saw a fine specimen of a snapping turtle scoot across the road. I must have it. It's worth about twenty dollars to me. Stop the car! I must get out!" Ned, who was running the auto, shut off the power and the machine came to a stop. Before it had ceased to move Mr. Snodgrass had leaped out and was running back. He began a hurried but careful search over the ground. Then he was seen to spring forward. animal passenger driver parking "He's got it, I guess," remarked Jerry. An instant later there came a howl from the scientist, who was hidden from sight by the tall grass. "Help, boys! Help!" "What's the matter? Won't he let you catch him?" cried Ned. "He's caught me!" yelled the professor. "Come quick and bring a knife to cut his head off with!" The boys piled out of the auto in a hurry, Jerry stopping to grab up a big carving knife from the camp utensils. sound weapon risk equipment car When they came up to the professor they hardly knew whether to laugh or not. The turtle, which was a big one, had grabbed the scientist by the thumb, and was clinging so tightly that it was suspended in the air, swaying to and fro. Meanwhile Mr. Snodgrass was dancing about in pain. "Why don't you take hold of the turtle's shell in the other hand, and you won't feel the weight so much!" called Jerry. "I can't," replied the professor. "I have a rare specimen of a toad in my other hand, and I don't want to lose it. Oh boys! Hurry up, and pry the turtle's jaws open, but don't hurt him, for he's valuable." "Can't you put the toad in your pocket?" asked Ned, knowing the scientist had no scruples about loading his garments up with all sorts of things. "Then you would have one hand free." "I never thought of that," said Mr. Snodgrass. "I can do that, can't I?" He did so, and, once the toad was secure he took hold of the turtle, which relieved his lacerated thumb from the dragging weight. "He won't let go!" exclaimed the professor, after a vain attempt to pull the turtle loose. "It is a genuine snapper, and they have a grip like a bull dog. I am glad I found it, in spite of the pain," he added, though just then, the turtle took a fresh hold and the professor squirmed in agony. "Here; I'll cut its head off," said Jerry, coming forward with the knife. "No, no!" exclaimed the professor. "It is too valuable to spoil. Just take the point of the blade, and pry the jaws open while I hold it steady." Jerry tried to do this, but the turtle only seemed to grip the tighter, and the professor's thumb was bitten through nearly to the bone. "What shall I do?" wailed Mr. Snodgrass. "I don't want to kill it." "I have it!" exclaimed Ned. "There's a little puddle of water over there beside the road. Dip the turtle in it, and he'll think he can swim. Then he'll let go." "Good!" cried the professor as he proceeded to put the plan in operation. "Then I can save him alive." The scheme worked well. As soon as the turtle felt the water it let go, and started to swim off. But the puddle was too shallow, and the professor, watching his chance, grabbed the reptile again. This time he took care to catch it at the middle of the shell, where the turtle could not reach around and bite. "I have it, after all," remarked the scientist as he deposited his prize in a box, and proceeded to put some salve and a rag on his thumb. "It's a rare specimen. I'm glad I got it." "And we're all glad we didn't get it," spoke Jerry with a laugh in which the others joined. But the professor took it good naturedly. He was used to such accidents he said. Resuming their journey, the travelers made only one more stop, that at noon, to get dinner. They had seen no signs of human habitation, and, as the afternoon wore on, and no house or cabin was seen, they began to feel that they might as well prepare to camp out again. As they were descending a gentle, sloping hill that led down into a small valley, just as the sun was setting, they saw, about a mile ahead a lonely cabin. The sight of smoke coming from the chimney told them there was some one at home. navigation scenery topography "I hope whoever lives there can accommodate us," remarked Chunky. "My appetite's getting the upper hand of me again." "It don't look large enough to hold us all," observed Jerry. "There's a barn, or some sort of building, in the rear," remarked Ned. "Some of us can use that if the man or woman lets us." A few minutes later the auto came to a stop in front of the cabin, which was indeed a lonely one, not another dwelling, large or small, showing in the whole valley. "Good evening," greeted an old man, with snow-white hair falling over his shoulders. He came to the door of the shack, and seemed to regard the coming travelers as a matter of course. "I am glad to see you," he went on. "You are just in time." "Time for what?" asked Mr. Snodgrass. "For the great final and successful experiment," proceeded the aged man. "The test is about to begin. Come in and see me make gold from common earth. At last I have found the long-lost secret!" parking scenery The eyes of the lonely man glowed with a strange light, and he seemed so excited that the boys did not know what to do. "Humor him," advised the professor in a whisper. "He is probably a harmless lunatic. Let him have his way, and pretend to agree with all he says." "Will you come in?" went on the old man. "I must proceed with my work." "We'll be glad to," went on the scientist. "That is, if we will not disturb you at your labors." "My labors are now ended," the man said. "I have worked for twenty years on the secret of making gold from the baser metals. At last I have the correct method. I will be a millionaire in another month. But come in! Come in!" The boys, obeying Mr. Snodgrass's advice, went in, the scientist following them. They saw that the cabin, though small, was neat and clean. Nearly all of the first of two rooms was occupied by a large, rudely made furnace, while on a table near it stood all sorts of chemical apparatus. On the furnace a pot was boiling furiously. "Now for the last act in the drama of life," said the aged man. "See, I place in the pot these pieces of brass," and he showed the travelers some chunks of the yellow stuff. He put them in the pot, from which arose a cloud of steam. "Next I throw in this powder, which I have labored on for years. It is the secret that men would give their lives for." He threw the powder into the pot, which boiled more furiously than before, and a white cloud of steam arose. Then it died away, and the pot seemed to cool off. "Now for the gold!" exclaimed the chemist. He lifted the pot from the furnace, and, holding it with some thick cloths poured the water off into a hole in the ground floor of the cabin. Out toppled the pieces of brass which had been thrown in, but while they had been dull before, they now glittered with the yellow gleam of gold. "The test! The test!" exclaimed the old man in a voice that trembled with eagerness. He placed one of the yellow pieces on the table, and put a few drops of gold-testing acid on it. There was a little hissing sound, and then, on the shiny surface of the piece of metal there came a dull black spot. The old man uttered a despairing cry. "Another failure!" he exclaimed. "It is brass still. I thought it would turn to gold! I must have made a mistake in mixing the powder." Chapter XVII. - The Indian and the Auto (144-151) Native American animal speed skill CHAPTER XVII THE INDIAN AND THE AUTO For a few moments the scientist who hoped he had discovered the fabled power to transmute metals stared at the result of his latest trial. He appeared lost in thought. Then he seemed to recollect that there were strangers present. "I am sorry my experiment did not succeed," he said in a more quiet voice than he had yet used. "I hoped to show you what I can do. Well, I must try again. I think I know where I made the error. I had too much soda in the powder. I will use less next time." "We are sorry to interrupt your experiments," put in the professor, "but we are travelers, and our object in stopping here was to find out if you could take us in for the night." "Gladly," replied the old man. "There is a barn in the rear, but it has not been occupied in years; not since I came here. You are welcome to use that. Some of you can spend the night in the rear room. As for me I shall not go to bed. I must start at once and make up some fresh powders." "I think perhaps we had all better sleep in the barn," said the professor. "Then we will not disturb you at your labors." The truth of it was Mr. Snodgrass saw that the aged man was not altogether right in his head, and he preferred not to be too near in case the fellow should suddenly become violent. "Just as you like, just as you like," was the reply to the professor's decision, and the chemist seemed to be dreaming over some problem he was trying to solve. "May we cook some of our food on your stove?" asked Jerry. "Why certainly. I beg your pardon for not mentioning supper," spoke the man, "but you see I am so used to getting a bite whenever I need it, so as not to interrupt my work, that I forgot there is such a thing as hospitality. Make yourselves at home, and, if you find anything in the cupboards help yourselves. Meanwhile please excuse me if I do not join you. I must go out and gather some roots and herbs I need in my experiments." He left the cabin, and, after bringing in some provisions from the auto, having first ascertained that there were few in the cabin, the travelers proceeded to make a meal. "Do you suppose he can be the hermit of Lost Lake?" asked Bob. "Well, he's certainly a hermit," spoke the professor, "but I don't believe there's a lake of any kind about here. Certainly if he was the hermit of the lake he would not be away off here. No, I am inclined to think we shall never see the lost lake or the hermit either." equipment car lake "Do you think it will be safe to stay here all night?" inquired Chunky. "I think so," was the professor's reply. "You see we will be out in another building, and we can fasten the door. If he tries to get in, which I am sure he will not, he will make noise enough to awaken us." "We could mount guard," suggested Ned. "It will not be necessary," Mr. Snodgrass said. Nor did the travelers find it so. After their meal, having left a good supply of victuals for the old man in case he came back, they retired to the rear building where they slept soundly. After breakfast, which the old man did not spend more than five minutes over, the travelers prepared to resume their trip. "You had better stay one more night," urged the owner of the cabin. "I feel sure that I shall be successful to-night. I have discovered a new root. See, I call it gold threads," and he held up some bulbs that had been dug from the ground. Clinging to them were small yellow fibres or roots. "I found them last night, down in the hollow by the mineral spring," the man went on. "I am sure they are just what I need. Please stay; won't you?" But the professor told him, as gently as possible, that they must keep on. So, after bidding the gold-seeker good bye, and wishing him success, the boys and Mr. Snodgrass proceeded, the auto puffing along at a good rate. The weather continued fine and the air was bracing and cool, for they were well up among the foothills now. During the morning the road led up a gentle slope, but at noon they camped on a sort of ridge that marked the divide. On the other side was a vast plain, bounded at the further side by tall mountains. speed mountain navigatio plains topography scenery It was well along in the afternoon, when having descended to the plain, the travelers found themselves bowling along a fine road, on either side of which were rolling fields. Mile after mile was covered, everyone enjoying the trip very much. The professor, however, was beginning to show signs of uneasiness. He fidgeted about in his seat, and seemed unable to remain quiet. "What's the matter?" asked Bob at length. "To tell you the truth," said the scientist, "I want to get out and get some specimens, but I did not like to ask you, for I do not want to delay the party." plains road condition agriculture navigation pleasure They all voted that the professor should be given a chance to get as many specimens as he wanted. Accordingly Jerry brought the car to a stop, and the boys and the scientist got out. As the engine had not been running as smoothly as was desirable Jerry did not shut off the power, merely throwing out the gear clutches. He said he wanted to have the cylinders warm up, and so the engine was left going, though the car itself stood still. parking engine maintenance car part skill The professor was soon busy gathering insects of various kinds from the tall grass, and even crawling on his hands and knees over the ground. The boys walked some distance off, to stretch their legs, for they were a little tired of sitting still so long. Suddenly Bob, who happened to glance back toward the auto, uttered a cry. "Look!" he shouted. "Some one is stealing our car and going off in it!" animal risk car The others looked. The sight that met their eyes was enough to astonish any one. Climbing into the automobile was a big Indian, attired in gay colored blankets, a rifle slung across his back, while near him stood a Pinto pony, clean-cut and wiry. While they watched they saw the red man seat himself comfortably at the steering wheel, reach forward to throw the gear clutch in place, and then the car moved off, taking the Indian with it. Native American weapon animal car part skill driver "Here! Come back!" "Stop that auto!" "Get out of that!" These were some of the things the boys yelled at the bold thief. But all of no avail. The Indian threw in the second gear, and the auto went faster than before. Native American skill car part speed "Come on! We must catch him!" cried Jerry, and he began to run in the direction the auto was fast disappearing in, down the road. "We can never catch him," called Bob. "Yes we can! He can't know anything about running an auto!" panted Jerry. "He'll put on the brake or pull the wrong lever next, and the machine will stop!" "That is unless he blows it up first or smashes it," said Bob. speed risk Native American skill "What's the matter?" asked Mr. Snodgrass, appearing at this juncture. Bob was the only one left to tell him, as Jerry and Ned were running down the road at top speed. But it seemed that their race would be useless, for the auto was now running on third gear. And, strangest of all, the Indian seemed to know how to operate it. He kept a straight course, and the puffing of the exhaust told Jerry that the engine was running to perfection, with a good supply of gasolene, and the spark coming regularly. speed risk skill Native American navigation engine gasoline [Illustration: THE INDIAN SEEMED TO KNOW HOW TO OPERATE IT.] "Who—ever—heard—of—an—Indian running—an—auto," panted Ned. "Running—away—with—one—you—mean," said Jerry, his breathing labored. Further and further away from the pursuing boys the auto went. It seemed hopeless to keep after it, but neither Jerry nor Ned would give up. They realized what it meant to lose their machine, though they could not understand how an Indian, in all his wild regalia, would think of getting into an auto. Suddenly there sounded down the road the patter of hoof beats. speed Native American risk sound "Maybe that's more Indians," said Jerry turning around and slowing up in his running. "No," he added, "it's Bob on the Indian's pony. I wonder you or I didn't think of that." "He couldn't catch up with the auto if he had two ponies," growled Ned. "The only chance is that the gasolene may give out, or the sparker refuse to work, or that he may run into a sand bank," lamented Jerry. "And there don't seem to be much chance of either taking place right off," put in Ned. "Hark! What's that?" From down the road sounded the Toot! Toot! of the auto horn. "It sounds as if he was coming back," said Jerry. Just then Bob caught up to them on the pony. Native American animal gasoline car part sound onomatopoeia Chapter XVIII. - Lost Lake Found (152-160) Native American skill night accident CHAPTER XVIII LOST LAKE FOUND "Let me past! I'll catch him!" cried Bob. "Wait a minute! Maybe that's him coming back?" replied Jerry. Sure enough the next instant the auto, which had been lost to sight by reason of a turn in the road, came into view. Straight up the highway it came, the figure of the Indian, wrapped in his blanket, with his headdress of feathers, an altogether brilliant figure, seated at the wheel; a strange enough combination as any one will admit. speed car visibility navigation Native American highway The red man acted as though he had been used to running autos all his life. He sat straight as an arrow, his hands grasping the wheel, which was sending the car straight for the boys. "He's just doing this to taunt us!" exclaimed Jerry. "I have a good notion to take a shot at one of the tires with my revolver and scare him into stopping." "Don't do it! You might kill him," said Ned, "and you wouldn't want to do that. But what does he mean by stealing the car, and then bringing it back?" Native American skill car part risk driver A few seconds later the auto drew up in front of the boys, who had come to a halt. With an ease that bespoke long experience the Indian brought the machine to a stop, and then, while the lads looked on, so full of wonder at the whole occurrence that they did not know what to say, the red man grunted: "Heap fine wagon. Ugh! Indian like um, he buy um! How much?" "Look here!" burst out Jerry, so angry that he hardly took note of what the red man had said. "Do you know you are a—" parking Native American skill Then a strange thing happened. Wrapping his blankets closely about him, and drawing himself up to his full height of over six feet, the Indian said calmly: "I really beg your pardon for the unwarranted liberty I took with your car, but when I saw it standing out here, so far from civilization, I could not resist the temptation to take a ride. I trust you will overlook it." For a moment the boys were speechless, for the Indian they had supposed one from the half-wild plain tribes, and whose every appearance indicated that, had spoken in English as cultured as that of a college professor. Native American car class "What—why—when—where?" stammered Jerry, and the Indian burst into a laugh. "I see I must explain," he said. "I am not what I seem." "Aren't you an Indian?" asked Ned. "A full blooded one, and the chief of a tribe," spoke the red man. "But I am not the half dime library sort. "You see," he went on, "I have just come back from the school at Carlisle, where I am taking a post graduate course. I felt a sudden longing to don the dress of my ancestors, and roam the broad fields. I did so, starting from my home on the reservation this morning. I came along and saw the auto. As I said, the temptation was too strong to resist. I got in and took a little spin, as you saw. I am sorry if I caused you annoyance, or made you fear your machine had been stolen." The eyes of the Indian twinkled and, beneath the paint on his face, the boys could see a smile coming. Native American pleasure class car "But how in the world did you learn to run a car?" asked Jerry. "Easy enough," was the answer. "I acted as chauffeur for several months this vacation to earn money enough to continue my studies. I got to be quite an expert. That is a fine car you have." "Well I'm stumped!" exclaimed Bob. "How do you like my pony?" asked the red man. "I think we made a sort of unfair exchange, though, in spite of the fact that the animal is valuable. Now let me apologize once more, and then I will take my animal and go home." "You are welcome to the ride," said Jerry. "We were so surprised at first that we took you for a thief." "I don't blame you," spoke the Indian. "The sight of a red man in an automobile is enough to make any one wonder. Well, heap big chief, Whistling Wind in the Pine, must go." "Is that your name?" asked Ned. "It's my Indian one," was the answer, "but at the school I am known as Paul Rader. Now let me bid you good day, and a pleasant journey." Native American skill animal class Then, before they could ask him to take a ride with them, the boys saw the Indian leap on his pony, from which Bob had dismounted, and ride away at a smart gallop, his blanket flying out behind him in the wind. "Well, that's the limit!" exclaimed Ned. "To think of a wild-civilized Indian playing a trick like that." "I certainly thought he was as wild as they come," put in Bob. "I was afraid it was all up with us." Then the professor appeared and they told him the story. "I wish I had met him," said the professor. "What for; did you know him?" asked Jerry. "No, but he would probably be able to tell me where to get some fine specimens," remarked the scientist. In a short time they were all in the auto again, and were bowling along over the table land, the machine humming in a way that told that the cylinders were working well. They camped for supper, and then, as it was a fine moon light night they determined to continue on slowly, as they wanted to make up for lost time. The moon rose early, a big silver disk shining among the trees, when the autoists started on their night journey. "This is great!" exclaimed Bob, who seemed to have forgotten his desire for a bed under shelter. "Wouldn't it be fun to have a lot of Indians chase us now?" "It might if they were tame ones," put in Jerry, who was steering, "but excuse me from any wild ones." car scenery speed night slowness driver passenger The road soon began a gentle ascent, and the auto ran more slowly up the hill. The road, too, became narrower, winding in and out. The trees, which had been scattering, were thicker, and the travelers could see they were getting well up among the mountains. "How late are you going to travel?" asked Bob of Jerry. "Until nearly midnight," was the answer. "The moon begins to go down then and it will not be very safe. But I think we ought to cover as big a distance as possible while we can. We have had delays enough." topography slowness road condition tree mountain night safety The only noise, besides the puffing of the machine, were the cries of owls, the chirping of crickets and katy-dids, with, now and then, the howl of a wolf or fox. In spite of the number in the party, there was a feeling of loneliness about being so far from civilization among the wilds of the mountain region. Up and up went the car, until the ascent became so steep that Jerry was obliged to run on the low gear. This made progress slow, and, because of the uneven road, so risky, that it seemed unwise to proceed further that night. "I'll slow up when we get to the top of this hill," said Jerry, "and we'll go into camp." sound animal night mountain scenery car part slowness road condition risk But he reckoned without knowing what sort of a hill it was, nor did he calculate on the auto failing to stop as soon as he expected. For that was what happened. Reaching the summit of the slope Jerry shut off the power. But something went wrong with the mechanism. The auto continued on, slowly to be sure, but with enough momentum to send it over the brow of the hill. Then it plunged down on the other side, gathering speed every minute. "Is she running away?" asked Ned. "Seems so to me." "She's not behaving as well as she should," replied Jerry, "but I have her under control. The brake is working all right," which fact he soon ascertained. mountain accident slowness risk car part speed Faster and faster, however, in spite of the brake, did the auto plunge down the slope. Jerry kept his head, however, and was working to bring the machine to a halt. All at once Bob, looking up, saw where the road made a sudden turn to the left. "Look out for that!" he cried, pointing. Jerry tried to make the turn, but the steering wheel suddenly became a little stiff, so that, instead of the car being turned to the left, and around the bend, it kept straight on. speed risk topography accident There was a crackling of brush and tree branches, and the big machine left the road and began plowing up the side of a slope, around the lower edge of which the road wound. "Duck!" cried Ned, as a tree branch hit him in the face. They all did so, and the next instant the big machine crashed through some briars, bending down several saplings in its journey. Then, having exhausted the momentum, the auto came to a stop, at the summit of the little slope, and Jerry jammed on the brakes to hold it there, the band this time gripping the axle firmly. tree accident speed car part road "Look! Oh look!" cried Ned, pointing ahead and down below them. There, in a sort of basin formed by high hills, lay a body of water, sparkling and beautiful in the moonlight, the shadows of tall black mountains reflected in its calm surface. "It's Lost Lake!" exclaimed Jerry, softly. "Boys! We have found Lost Lake! I am sure of it!" For a few seconds no one spoke after that, for they were all lost in wonder at the beauty and strangeness of the sight. It was so quiet that it seemed almost as if it was but a picture painted by a master's hand. Suddenly Bob, who was staring intently at the upper end of the lake, grasped Ned by the arm. "See," he whispered. "What's that? That thing in white?" Chapter XIX. - The Ghost of the Lake (161-168) night lake visibility CHAPTER XIX THE GHOST OF THE LAKE They all looked to where Bob pointed. At first they could make out nothing, but Bob insisted that he had seen some tall, white object moving. "It was just like the description of ghosts," he said, with a queer little laugh. "I see it," said Jerry, softly. "Right by the big white birch." "Sure enough," remarked the professor. Then they all beheld a tall white form in the pale moonlight, gliding from tree to tree, on the shore of the lake. visibility tree "Look, it is picking up something from the shore," said Ned. "Maybe it's the hermit the miner told us about, gathering gold." "Nonsense," said Jerry. "It's probably a bit of fog, or it may be a white fox, or a wolf." "No fox or wolf is as big as that," insisted Ned. "I'll bet it's the hermit." "Whatever it is, it's gone now," put in Bob. And, sure enough, the object suddenly disappeared among the trees, and there was nothing in sight but the lake, the mountains and the moonlight. "Well, we seem to have stumbled onto the lake," remarked Jerry. "If the auto had not misbehaved we would have taken the regular road, and Lost Lake would still be lost. As it is we have found it." "I hope we find some of the gold, as well," put in Ned. "We may need the yellow pebbles if our mine is gone." "Whatever we do, we shall stay here until morning," said Jerry. "It will be a good place to camp, anyhow, gold or no gold." So they all busied themselves in preparing to stay there for the rest of the night. A fire was built and a midnight supper was soon in preparation. They had good appetites, and, tired with the day's journey and events, they got out their blankets and slept soundly. By daylight the lake was seen to be a large sheet of water, rather irregular in outline, with many small bays and coves. Shimmering in the sunlight the water made a beautiful picture. "Here goes to see if there are any golden pebbles on the shore," remarked Bob, with a whoop as soon as he had crawled from the improvised bed. He did not have to stop and dress for the travelers slept in their clothes. Chunky climbed down the slope, along a rather rough path to the water. Some time later Jerry and Ned were about to follow, when they heard Bob yelling at the top of his voice. "What's the matter?" called Jerry. "Have you found the gold?" cried Ned. "Maybe the hermit has attacked him," suggested the professor. They all ran to the water's edge. When they reached the shore Bob was nowhere in sight. "Hi, Bob! Where are you?" cried Jerry looking around. "Here!" exclaimed Chunky, suddenly, bobbing up from beneath the little waves about one hundred feet from shore. "Did you fall in?" asked the professor, anxiously. "No, I jumped in," replied the boy. "I'm in swimming. Come on in, the water's fine!" "Good for you!" called Ned and the next instant he was undressed and splashing out toward Bob. Jerry soon joined them, and even the professor took a dip. The water was somewhat cool, but after they were once in it was invigorating, and they swam about for half an hour, greatly enjoying the luxury of a bath. "Hark! What was that?" asked Ned, suddenly. There came a whirring of wings and a rustling of the leaves of the bushes off to the left. Then a bevy of birds sailed through the air. "Partridge, or some similar bird, I would say," was the professor's opinion. "And there goes a big rabbit!" cried Bob. "Yes, and there's another!" exclaimed Jerry. "Say, we have struck a game country if we haven't a gold one. I say, what's the matter with having a hunt?" "Good!" cried Bob and Ned. "I think it would do no harm to replenish the larder with something fresh," remarked the professor. Accordingly, after breakfast, guns were gotten ready and the boys and the professor tramped off through the woods, taking care not to go too far from the lake, as the trees were thick, and, as there were no trails blazed, it would be easy to get lost. Ned bagged the first partridge, and Bob came second, getting two in succession. Jerry had hard luck, for twice he missed easy shots. A little later, however, he bowled over a plump rabbit, and followed it up with a second. Then Ned got one, and Jerry succeeded in bagging a couple of fine birds. Some of the game was served for dinner, which was eaten by a campfire, and very fine it was voted. Then some was packed away in salt, against a possible time when provisions might be hard to get. "What do you say, shall we stay here another night or push on?" asked Jerry, about the middle of the afternoon. "If you ask me," said the professor, "I should say to remain here. I saw a number of fine and rare specimens I would like to gather." "The only thing is, perhaps we had better join Nestor as soon as possible," remarked Ned. "I think a few days' delay can do no harm," Mr. Snodgrass said. "From the tone of Nestor's letter I would say there was no immediate danger of the mine being claimed by others." "Then we'll stay," said Jerry. "I would like to investigate the lake a little more. We did not go very far along the shore. Perhaps there might be an outcropping of gold somewhere around this locality." "And maybe we will see the hermit, or the ghost, or whatever it is," added Ned. "Let's stay." "Then we ought to rig up some kind of shelter," went on Jerry. "It may rain in the night, and it's not the most pleasant thing in the world to sleep in a mud puddle." "We can build a shack of boughs," said Bob. And this they did. They had often done the same thing before. Branches from a pine tree, stacked up against a sapling cut to fit between the crotches of two trees, with the same sort of boughs for a roof and floor, made a very good shelter. Rubber blankets on top insured the rain being kept out, and with woolen coverings for inside, beds were made that were very comfortable. When these preparations had been made it was growing dusk. While Bob and Ned were getting supper, and the professor was busy arranging his specimens gathered that day, Jerry removed one of the big search-lights from the auto. "What are doing that for?" asked Bob. "I'm going to try and find out what that white thing is," said Jerry. "I'm going to rig up a lantern in front of the shack, facing the lake, and if the hermit or whatever it is, shows up, I'm going to flash the light on it." "Maybe it won't come to-night," suggested Bob. car part technology equipment But it did. It was along about midnight when Ned felt a light touch on his arm. "What's the matter?" he asked, sitting up. "Come on," whispered Jerry. "I see something down by the lake, and I want to investigate. Be careful, don't make any noise." Bob and the professor were both sleeping so soundly that they did not hear Jerry and Ned leave the shack. "Where is it?" asked Ned. "There," replied Jerry, pointing to a spot about three hundred feet away, and on the shore of the lake. "It was there a minute ago, but it's gone now. Watch, it will come back." He busied himself over the search-light, making ready to light it quickly and flash the beams on the ghost or hermit, or whatever it should prove to be. "There it is!" called Ned, in a hoarse whisper. "Right by that big rock that runs out into the water." "I see!" said Jerry, softly. There was a hissing sound as Jerry turned on the acetylene gas, a snapping sound as he lit the match, and then a slight puff as the vapor ignited. The next instant a glaring shaft of light shot down toward the lake, glint on a strange object. equipment visibility night There in the glare of the white beams stood the figure of an old man. His hair was snow white, and hung down long over his shoulders. He seemed bent with age, and this was made more pronounced because he bore a heavy bag on his back. He was right at the edge of the water. The sudden glare had startled him, and he turned in surprise and fear to see whence it came. His face stood out in strong relief, and Jerry started, for he dimly remembered seeing some one who looked like that some time before. Then, all at once the stillness of the night was broken by a shrill scream. Ned and Jerry were startled, and Bob and the professor, in the shack, were awakened. Chapter XX. - The Mysterious Woman (169-174) lake rain night CHAPTER XX THE MYSTERIOUS WOMAN "Look!" exclaimed Ned. Then, as he and Jerry watched what took place in the circle of light, they beheld a woman, her long hair streaming down her back, run from the woods up to the old man. In her hand she held a big club, and with it she endeavored to strike the aged man. The latter dropped his sack, and seemed to engage in a struggle with the woman. "He's killing her!" exclaimed Ned. "This is the hermit we were warned against." "Come on!" cried Jerry. "We must see what it means." But, just as he started down the slope, the search-light went out, leaving the place in utter blackness, for the moon was under a cloud. When Jerry had succeeded in getting the light going again, the man and woman were nowhere to be seen. "Well, that certainly was a queer sight," remarked Ned. "I wonder what it all means?" "I guess we'll have to stay here until we find out," said Jerry. "It looked as if there was going to be trouble, at one time." "What's all the excitement about?" asked the professor, coming out of the shack, followed by Bob. Jerry related what they had seen, and the professor agreed that it would be better to remain and make an investigation. "I say, you fellows are mean to go off alone and have a cracking adventure like that," objected Bob, in a grieved tone. "We didn't want to disturb your slumbers," said Ned. "Don't eat so much supper next time, and you will not sleep so sound," advised Jerry. But Bob was not to be appeased until promised that the next time Ned and Jerry went ghost hunting they would take him with them. Having been so thoroughly aroused from their sleep the travelers decided to sit up a while and see if they could catch another glimpse of the strange man and woman. But, though they sat and talked for more than an hour, there was no further sign of the two queer creatures. "I'm going to bed," announced Bob at length, and the others decided to follow his example. They slept soundly until morning, though Jerry said afterward that he dreamed he was being chased across the frozen lake by a white haired man on a black horse. He got stuck in the ice, and was freezing to death, when he awakened to find that his blanket had slipped from him, and that a cold rain was blowing in through the cracks of the shack. Morning had dawned cold and dreary. "Wow! This isn't exactly pleasant!" exclaimed Jerry, as he poked his head out of the front of the screen of branches. "I wish there was a hotel handy." The others crawled from beneath the blankets, not in any too good humor at the dismal prospect. "And I'll bet there isn't any dry wood to be had," said Bob. "That means a cold breakfast." A search proved that he was right. Nor was there any charcoal, since the last had been used some days before, and they had been to no place where they could get more. "Just when a fellow needs a hot cup of coffee," went on Bob. "I never saw such beastly luck." Jerry said nothing. He seemed to be studying over some matter. "I have it," he exclaimed. "What? Some dry wood?" asked Ned with much eagerness. "No, but I know how to make some hot coffee," was the answer. Jerry lost no time in explaining. He first went to the auto where he got out rubber coats for himself and his companions. Then, ready to defy the rain, which was coming down at a good clip, Jerry hunted about until he found two large stones. These he set up a short distance apart, placing another each at the front and rear of the first two. "There's the stove," he remarked. "A heap of good it will do, with no fire in it," growled Bob. "Wait," advised Jerry. Taking the big search-light, which he had used the night previous, he removed the top, so that the flame could be used for cooking purposes. They prepared a good meal and enjoyed it. car equipment rain It continued to rain, and to fill in time the boys went fishing in the lake. Luck was with them and within half an hour they had ten fine fish, and then, though they could have taken many more, they did not, as Jerry said they would have no use for them. "Fish for dinner for me to-day," said Bob, while the others laughed at his usual exhibition of how fond of eating he was. The fish did prove an excellent dish, fried in corn meal on Jerry's improvised stove. Some bacon gave them a relish, and with hot coffee they felt they had as good a meal as many a hotel could serve. "I wonder where the professor is?" said Ned, when the meal was almost over. "I forgot that he wasn't with us." "He's off gathering birds, bugs or reptiles," said Jerry. "He'll come when he feels good and hungry." "He's more likely to forget all about being hungry if he gets chasing a fine specimen," remarked Ned. "I think I'll just take a stroll and see if I can come across him." "We'll go along," said Jerry and Bob. So the three started off together. They could easily follow the professor's trail, as he had broken through the underbrush, snapping off many twigs and breaking small branches. The boys wandered on for nearly a mile, but saw no sign of the scientist. They were about to turn back, and wait for him at camp, when Jerry held up his hand to indicate silence. "Hark!" he whispered. The others stood still, and, listening intently, heard above the patter of the raindrops, voices in conversation. "That's the professor," said Ned. "Some one is with him then," put in Jerry. "They are coming this way." The sounds of persons advancing through the bushes could be heard. The voices also sounded plainer. A minute later the brush was parted and the professor, followed by a woman, came out into the little clearing where the boys were. At the sight of the woman, Jerry started, for he recognized her as the strange person who had been with the old man the night previous. The professor seemed excited about something. "Boys, this lady has just told me some strange news," he said. "What is it?" asked Ned. "Beware of the hermit of Lost Lake!" the woman exclaimed suddenly. "Have a care of him. Many poor travelers has he murdered. He would have murdered you last night if I had not prevented him." "So that's what it was all about," said Jerry, half aloud. The woman heard him, and turned: "Did you see him?" she asked. "Did you see me?" "I—we—" began Jerry. "You have been spying on me!" exclaimed the woman, growing much excited. Chapter XXI. - The Den of the Hermit (175-184) forest lake pleasure risk CHAPTER XXI THE DEN OF THE HERMIT "No, no!" said the professor calmly. "The boys were not spying. They happened to see a man and a woman on the shore of the lake last night, and they thought it might have been you." "It was me," said the woman. "I was trying to prevent him from coming and killing you all in your sleep." The boys began to feel a queer creepy sensation run up their spines, as if some one had poured cold water down their backs. "It's true," the strange creature went on. "I will tell you all about it. Listen to me," and she sat down on a stump. "Perhaps we had better go where there is shelter," suggested Jerry, for it was raining hard again, though the boys and the professor in their rubber coats did not mind it. The woman was drenched. "No," she said. "I can go to no place save these woods. I am safe from him here." She seemed nervous and excited, and her eyes seemed unnaturally bright. "The old man is a hermit," she went on. "He has lived near this lake for many years. He kills travelers and takes their money. He tried to kill me but I escaped from him because I can run fast. Since then he has been after me. Last night he started for your camp, but I got a big club and stopped him. Then he ran away." "What was in the bag?" asked Ned. "What bag?" asked the woman. "The one the old man had on his back?" "Hush! Don't speak about it," was the reply. "He had a murdered man's body in there, and he threw it into the lake." "Are you sure?" asked the professor, thinking the woman might, perhaps, be trying to scare them away. "Positive," she replied. "I saw him kill the poor fellow, but the hermit did not know I was watching." "Where does he live?" asked the professor. "He has a den in the darkest part of the woods," was the answer. "He takes travelers there and kills them. He does not know that I know where it is, but I do. Would you like to see it?" "Not if he is the kind of a person you say he is," spoke Jerry. "I think we had better steer clear of him." "I can take you there when he is not at home," said the woman. "Listen, once each week he takes a long trip over the mountain, to bury the gold he has taken from travelers. I can hide and watch him go. Then I could come and bring you to his den. Shall I?" "It might be a good plan," mused the professor. "If this man is a murderer he should be taken in charge by the authorities. Yes, come and let us know when he goes away. Perhaps we could capture him ourselves." "I'll come," said the woman. "Now I must go, for I hear some one coming," and, rising suddenly, she ran off at top speed through the woods. The boys listened intently but could hear no one approaching, and began to think the woman must have been mistaken. "Where did you meet her?" asked Jerry of the professor, when it was seen that the woman was not coming back. "She saw me while I was gathering some specimens," was the reply, "and she came up to warn me about the hermit. It seems that she lives not far away, and roams through the woods. Besides telling me about the old man, and to be on our guard against him, she showed me where to get some beautiful tree toads," and the scientist opened his pocket and showed it full of the little creatures. "Do you think she is telling the truth about the hermit?" asked Jerry. "There may be some exaggeration to it," rejoined the professor, "but I have heard of old half crazed men who lived in the woods as this one does, and who occasionally murdered lone travelers. We can't be too careful." "Besides, it did look as though she was trying to prevent him doing something last night," put in Jerry. "Well, we'll keep a good lookout," suggested the professor. "That's all we can do now, unless we decide to move on away from this place." "I would rather like to solve the mystery," said Jerry. "I do not think we have much to fear. He is an old man, and I guess we four are a match for him." "Then we had better do as the woman says, wait until she comes to lead us to his hut, or cabin, or whatever it is," the professor advised after a moment's thought. That plan settled on, they made their way back to camp and the professor was given his rather late dinner. But he did not seem to mind this in the least. "Are you going to keep watch again to-night?" asked Bob of Jerry. "Of course. I want to get at the bottom of this. There is a mystery somewhere, and I think the hermit, the lost lake and the strange woman, together, can explain it." The rain stopped after supper, though it remained cloudy, and Jerry again prepared the gas lamp. It was arranged that he and Ned would stay up on guard until twelve o'clock and that Bob and the professor would take the rest of the night. Whichever party saw the hermit was at once to notify the other. Jerry and Ned began their vigil. Several hours passed and it seemed they were to have their trouble for their pains. At length, however, just as they were preparing to turn in and let the others take their turn, Jerry saw a movement in the bushes about five hundred feet away, and down near the edge of the lake. The moon, shining faintly through the clouds, illuminated the scene. "Be ready to turn on the light when I say so," said Jerry to Ned. Ned was all alert. Jerry, with his eyes straining to catch the slightest movement of the underbrush, peered through the darkness. Something white attracted him. "Now!" he whispered to Ned, and the light, that had been burning low, was suddenly turned on at full power. In its glare the two boys saw again the white haired hermit stealing along the edge of the water, the big bag on his back. "Call the others!" whispered Jerry to Ned. "I'll keep watch!" "All right." Ned softly went back to the shack where he awakened the professor and Bob. They were out in an instant, and made ready to go quietly down as close as they could to where the hermit was, while Jerry showed the way by the searchlight. But again they were doomed to disappointment, for, no sooner had Jerry turned the light so that it shown full on the old man, than he jumped as though struck by lightning and made a dive for the woods, into the black depths of which he disappeared. "I guess that's the last we'll see of him," said Ned. "He dropped his bag," cried Bob. "Let's get that and see what's in it." At this the professor and Ned ran down to the edge of the water, and soon returned with the sack the old man had carried on his back. "Open it and let's see if there are any murdered persons in it," said Jerry, with an uneasy laugh. Ned untied the string, and, not without some misgivings, peered inside. "Well I never," he exclaimed. "What is it?" asked Bob. "Fish! Nothing but fish!" replied Ned. "Fine ones at that. I guess all we have done is to have scared the poor old man away from his fishing grounds." "Certainly there is nothing suspicious in having a bag of fish," put in the professor. "I wonder if that strange woman could have been telling the truth." "We'll know better if she keeps her word and comes to take us to the hermit's den," said Jerry. There seemed nothing more to do that night, so they all went to bed, not being disturbed until morning. They were awakened by the sun peeping in through the chinks in the shack, and they got up to find a fine day had succeeded the rainy one. The beams of Old Sol were bright and warm, and the first thing the travelers did was to go down and have a dip in the lake. Then breakfast was served, and when it was over Jerry and Ned started to overhaul the machine. "For," said Jerry, "we may want to leave at any time, and the car is in none too good condition since we plowed up the side of the mountain." sunshine lake maintenance Several minor repairs were made and the auto was run down to the main road, where it stood in readiness for a quick start. It was some time after dinner before all this was done, and along about three o'clock the four travelers stretched out under the trees and took a well earned rest. "Now if that strange woman would—" began Ned. "Hush!" cautioned the professor, "some one is coming." maintenance navigation tree road Hardly had he ceased speaking before the bushes opened and there appeared the figure of the queer woman, with her long hair hanging loose down her back. "Hush!" she whispered, placing her finger on her lips. "I have come to keep my promise. The hermit has gone over the mountain. Come, and I will take you to his hut, and you can see where he has murdered travelers." The boys hardly knew whether to obey or not, but a nod from Professor Snodgrass, to whom they looked, indicated they were to do as the woman wanted. So they arose and prepared to follow her. The professor brought up the rear. Through the woods their strange guide went, for several miles. At length she reached a thick part of the woods. "It is very close now," she said. "Wait until I take a look." The travelers halted, while the woman crept softly forward. She peered through the brush into a sort of clearing, and apparently seeing that everything was safe, she motioned for the others to advance. They did so, and, a moment later emerged from the woods into a place where many trees had been cut down. In the centre of this space was a small log cabin, and toward it the woman pointed. "There is his hut," she said. "Come on, I will lead the way." She advanced with great caution, as though she feared to disturb some one. Closer and closer to the door she went, the others close behind her. "He never locks it, so we can go right in," she said. By this time she was near enough to grasp the latch. She raised it, and was about to enter, when the door suddenly swung back, and the old hermit himself, stepping out, stood before the astonished travelers. "There he is! There he is! There is the murderer!" cried the woman, pointing her finger at the hermit. The old man did not appear greatly surprised. He looked from the woman to the boys and the professor, and remarked: "To what am I indebted for the honor of this visit?" "I we,—er—that is—we—er—I—" began the professor, finding it was hard to tell the truth. "Oh, it's poor old Kate," went on the hermit. "She has probably been telling you some strange stories. Will you not come into my cabin?" "Don't go into the murderer's hut!" cried the woman, as she turned and fled back through the underbrush, leaving the travelers in a somewhat queer situation. +