Excerpt
CHAPTER I THE MEETING ON THE ROAD
"Get out of my way, Dick Morrison!"
The boy who had been trudging along the narrow road looked up in surprise at hearing himself spoken to so suddenly, though he recognized the domineering voice even before catching sight of the speaker.
"You already have half of the road, Ferd Graylock; to give you more I'd have to back down in the ditch, and I don't care to do that," he replied, standing perfectly still and watching with some amusement the zigzag movements of the other, now close upon him.
Ferd was mounted on a new motor-cycle, purchased with savings out of his pocket money, and with which machine he had been of late scouring the surrounding country.
Evidently the little motor had broken down while he was some distance away from home, necessitating considerable walking up hill and hard pedalling on the levels.
Weary, and over-heated by his exertions, he was naturally in an ugly temper at the time he met Dick on the narrowest place along the entire road, where a ditch on one side and a fence on the other, left only enough room for a single vehicle at a time to pass.
Just then, judging from his erratic swinging from side to side, Ferd needed the whole road, and seeing this, the other lad stood by, ready to guard himself if the cumbersome machine headed his way.
His suspicions as to the intentions of Ferd to run him down seemed well founded, for, pretending to be unable to control the heavy machine, the rider came lunging directly at the standing boy, who would have been struck only for a quick leap to one side, by means of which he avoided a collision.
But alas! the edge of the road was closer than Ferd had calculated on when maliciously endeavoring to give the pedestrian a scare, and as a consequence the motor-cycle plunged down into the ditch.
Ferd managed through a quick effort to leap off his seat just in time to avoid being overwhelmed in the disaster.
He scrambled to his feet choking with both dust and anger.
His beautiful machine lay with its front buried in the water of the ditch, and the sight was so disagreeable that Ferd seemed to lose what little discretion he generally boasted.
"There, see what you've done, Dick Morrison!" he exclaimed, fiercely.
"Well, now, I like that," answered the other, hardly knowing whether to laugh or show indignation; "you try to run me down, and when I step out of the way to avoid an upset you accuse me of having had a hand in the mess. Why did you jump off when by a twist of the handlebars you could have saved the machine? Suppose you blame yourself, not me."
"But you saw that I had lost control, and if you'd only wanted you could have stopped its plunge; but you'd rather see me get into a peck of trouble. How d'ye suppose I'm ever going to lug that heavy thing back up to the road now?" demanded Ferd, spitefully.
"Oh! I don't mind giving you a hand at that. I hate to see such a fine machine lying in the mud like a mired cow," declared Dick, cheerfully.
Ferd looked at him dubiously, as though his spirit urged him to decline the generous offer of assistance made by one he chose to regard as his enemy; but the road was lonely, no one might come along for some time to help him, and the motor-cycle was too heavy for him to drag out of the hole unassisted....