Chapter XVIII. After the Cash - Page 2

several minutes had passed that they could go at more than the ordinary rate. But once the open country was reached Tom "opened her up full," and the song the motor sung was one of power. The vehicle quickly gathered headway and was soon fairly whizzing along.

"If we keep this up we'll be there and back in good time," remarked Mr. Damon.

"Yes, but we can't do it," replied his companion. "The road to Clayton is a poor one, and we'll soon be on it. Then we'll have to go slow. But I'll make all the time I can until then."

So, for several miles more they crept along, at times having to reduce to almost a walking pace, because of bad roads. Mr. Damon looked at his watch almost every other minute.

"Eleven o'clock," he remarked, as they passed a milestone, "and we're not half way there. Bless my gizzard, but I'm afraid we won't make it, Tom. We left about ten, and we ought to be back by two o'clock to do any good. That's four hours, and it will take some time to transfer the securities, and get the cash. Every minute counts."

"I know it," answered Tom, "and I'm going to count every minute."

With eager eyes he watched every inch of the road, to steer to the best advantage. His hands gripped the wheel until his knuckles showed white with the strain, and, every now and then his right hand adjusted the speed lever or the controller handle, while his foot was on the emergency brake, ready to stop the car at the first sign of danger.

And there was danger, not infrequently, for the road was up and down hill, over frail bridges, and along steep cliffs. It was no pleasure tour they were on.

When a little over half the distance had been made they came to a better road, and Tom was able to use full speed ahead. Then the electric went so fast that, had it not been for the steel wind- shield in front, Mr. Damon, at any rate, would have been short of breath.

"This is going some!" he cried to Tom. The lad nodded grimly, and shoved the controller handle over to the last notch. Then came a bad stretch and they had to slow down again. As they were about out of it there came a little flash of fire and the motor stopped.

"Bless my overshoes!" cried Mr. Damon. "What's that; a fuse blown out?"

"No," replied Tom, with a puzzled air. "But something has gone wrong." Hastily he got out, and made an examination. He found it was only one of the unimportant wires which had short-circuited, and it was soon adjusted. But they had lost five precious minutes. Tom tried to make up for lost time, but came to a hill a little later, and this reduced their speed.

"Do you think we can make it before twelve?" asked Mr. Damon anxiously. "We've got to, if we're to get back before three, Tom."

"I'll