Bert Wilson at the Wheel Part 19

The fellows expressed their regret and then in responses to a few kindly questions put by Mr. Hollis, they learned that Shorty's ambition was to obtain a thorough musical education. They learned too that for two years past he had been the soloist in the boy choir of one of the prominent churches in New York. He had joined the boy choir because there he could gain, without cost, a knowledge of sight reading and voice control.

Bert's "Won't you sing something for us, Phil?" was not to be resisted and after a moment's thought his clear notes rose in a burst of melody:

"Cast thy bread upon the waters"----

The boys fairly held their breath as the flutelike notes of one of the finest voices they had ever heard, floated off into the woodland s.p.a.ces.

When he had finished, every one sat spellbound, paying the highest tribute of a moment of perfect silence. Even when the silence was broken by hearty hand clapping, the spell of the music still brooded over them.

It had been too fine for noisy applause.

The boys' appreciation of his singing was very grateful to Phil, and not the least tribute was Tom's: "Gee, Phil, I hope the birds didn't wake up to hear that. They would have been green with envy."

The tension was broken by Sam's asking: "What does that mean, 'Cast thy bread upon the waters'--and how can it return?" Mr. Hollis was glad to explain that no kind deed or word is ever wasted, but is sure to return blessings on the one who gave it, if only in the glow that a kind action always brings.

But, uplifted as the boys had been, it is not in boy nature to stay long upon the heights and they soon came down to earth again.

Jim showed how fully he had come back to earth by remarking as he suddenly remembered that owing to a miscalculation as to the elastic nature of a boy's capacity, both flour and corn meal had given out, and that in consequence, nothing in the shape of bread had come their way that night: "I wish some real bread were coming tomorrow. I am not particular about its coming by water. It can get here any old way, as long as it comes."

The sound of someone approaching the camp aroused them. Irish Kitty appeared, with a big basket on one arm and a great bunch of red roses in her ap.r.o.n.

As soon as the boys saw the flowers, a shout went up: "Roses! roses!

What beauties!" and on Kitty saying that she had counted them and there was one for each, they were seized upon and distributed in a twinkling.

Now, Kitty stated that she had a "prisint for the young gintlemin" from her mother, Mrs. Harrigan, "to thank thim for the foine illigant ride in the artymobile."

The big basket was uncovered and there lay revealed to the eyes of the delighted boys a number of large loaves of delicious homemade bread.

One did not need to taste that bread to know its value. The firm white loaves spoke for themselves. Corn bread they had in plenty every day, but white wheat flour bread was not included in their regular camp rations, so that this was indeed a treat. They were all devouring it already in imagination, and each wished it were morning so that they might begin in reality.

Kitty departed amid "Good nights" and hearty thanks to her mother, and, camp bed time having arrived, all drifted toward their tents, Tom gaily singing:

"'Tis a name That no shame Has iver been connected with Harrigan! That's me."

All at once some one shouted: "Look at Ben Cooper." They turned to see Ben standing like a statue, eyes fixed on nothing, staring straight ahead of him.

"Say, fellows," said he, "that bread that we cast on the waters on our way home from the doctor's the other day sure did come back, didn't it?"

"It certainly did and it didn't take 'many days' either to get here,"

said Tom.

"And," chimed in Shorty, "a big bunch of red roses thrown in, too."

"Yes, Caruso," added Bert, throwing his arm affectionately over Phil's shoulder, "you must be a prophet as well as a singer."

Very soon the tired boys were off to dreamland, where visions of loaves of fluffy white bread, each loaf with a red rose growing out of it, floated about, and imaginative Dave dreamed that old Biddy made a "prisint" of a loaf to each one, singing in a high cracked voice as she handed them around: "Harrigan! That's me!"

CHAPTER XVIII

THE RACE

"Well," exclaimed Bert, drawing a long breath as he rose from his cramped position beside the "Red Scout," "this machine is in as good condition as I know how to put it, and if nothing happens I guess we can show you fellows some speed this afternoon."

It was the morning of the long wished-for race and Bert was addressing an excited group of boys, who were holding wrenches, oil cans, and such other appliances as he might need in putting the finis.h.i.+ng touches on the pampered machine. The whole camp was in a ferment of excitement and expectancy, and many were the heartfelt wishes for Bert's success.

To these boys it seemed the most important thing on earth that their machine should win, and it is safe to say that if Bert had wanted to remove a piece of black grease from the car and had not a cloth handy, any one of them would have sacrificed his best handkerchief without a moment's hesitation, and been glad to do it.

Fortunately, such a contingency did not arise, however, and finally the last nut had been tightened and the last fine adjustment made, and everything was ready for the start.

The race was scheduled to start at two o'clock, but as the boys had to walk to the track, and this necessitated a long detour around the lake, they started almost immediately after breakfast, so as to get there in plenty of time.

The boys in the two rival camps were not the only persons interested in the race by any means. News of it had leaked out over the surrounding countryside during the week between the completion of arrangements and the actual race, and now there promised to be a goodly attendance of farmers and their families.

Considerable interest was taken in the camp by the kindly country folk, and now the boys were surprised at the number of carriages and farm wagons, full of jolly youngsters, that they met on their march.

Every one they met shouted cheery greetings to them, which they returned with interest. It made them very happy to see the interest taken in them by the farmers, and the very evident good will expressed by them. They didn't take the trouble to figure out the reason for this, but it was not very hard to find. The fact is, the boys were so manly and well-behaved that they won their way into all hearts.

Many a time they had seen the boys stop their machine rather than frighten a skittish horse, and more than one weary farmer had been given a lift on his way home from some distant field.

So, as has been said, the boys were greeted with expressions of good will on every side as they marched along, and it made them realize, perhaps more than anything else could, that it paid to live a manly, upright life.

Meanwhile, back in camp Mr. Hollis, Bert, and d.i.c.k, were having a final discussion before leaving for the rival camp in the "Red Scout." It had been decided that d.i.c.k was to ride with Bert in the race, and give him any help that he might need.

The other boys had been bitterly disappointed, especially Tom, who had counted right along on going.

"It only seems fair that I should go," he had contended. "Bert and I have always been special pals, and I wanted to share any risk he is going to take."

But Mr. Hollis was firm as a rock, as he well knew how to be when he thought circ.u.mstances required it of him.

"I'm a little bit uneasy about the race, anyway," he explained, "and as long as somebody has to take chances I want it to be some boy who is old enough to be responsible for his own actions. I know n.o.body could fill the place better than you, my boy, but I am sure that when you think over what I have said you will agree with me in my decision," and Tom had to admit to himself that, as usual, Mr. Hollis was right.

But now the time had come to leave for the rival camp, and Mr. Hollis and Tom climbed into the tonneau, while Bert and d.i.c.k occupied the two front seats.

Soon they had started, and as they went along Bert gave d.i.c.k his last instruction. "Remember," said he, "that when we take the turns you must lean as far toward the inside of the track as you can. This may not seem to help much in keeping those inside wheels on the ground, but every little thing like that does help, and I think that we will have to do everything we know how to beat that 'Gray Ghost' of theirs. That car is no slouch, as the saying goes, and Ralph Quinby knows his business."

"All right, Bert," replied d.i.c.k, "I'll try to remember all the things you have told me. I really believe," he continued, laughing, "that I have forgotten more about automobiles in the last week than I ever knew before. I never had any idea that there was so much to know about a car, and you certainly have got it down to perfection."

Bert was pleased at this evidently sincere tribute from d.i.c.k, and could not prevent a slight flush of pleasure from mounting to his face.

"Well, d.i.c.k," he remarked after a moment, "all I've got to say is that if such a trio as you and I and the old 'Red Scout' can't win that race, there must be something the matter with the universe, that's all."

The rival camp all felt as confident as did Mr. Hollis' troop, however, and to the impartial observer it would certainly have seemed as though there was little to choose between the autos and their crews.

By this time they had come in sight of the old race track, and were astonished, and, it must be confessed, somewhat confused at the sight that met their eyes. There was an old rickety grand stand along one side of the course, and this was literally packed with a bright-colored ma.s.s of humanity. Even scattered around the infield there were quite a few farm wagons, with their complement of folks out for a holiday.

"Say," said d.i.c.k to Bert in a low tone, "I didn't count on having an audience like this. They'll guy the life out of us if we lose."