Briartown, where our hero lived.

“She’s running fine now,” commented Dick, who, at a nod from Tom, took the wheel.

“Yes, as slick as you’d want her. She’s making good time, too,” and Tom glanced over toward[5] shore, watching the trees seemingly slip past.

[5]

“Hey, Tom, wait up, will you?” This came as a hail from the shore, and, following it, Tom and Dick saw a lad running along the river bank, waving his hand at them. “Wait!” he cried.

“It’s Dent Wilcox,” said Dick Jones.

“Yes, and he’s running—that’s the strange part of it,” commented Tom. “I wonder how he ever got out of his lazy streak long enough to get up that much speed.”

“It is a question,” agreed Dick, for Dent Wilcox was known as the laziest lad in Briartown. “Probably he wants a ride badly enough to chase after you,” added Tom’s chum.

Once more came the hail:

“Hey, Tom, give me a ride; will you?”

“What for?” called back our hero.

“I’ve got to go down to Millford for a man. I’ve got a job,” answered Dent.

“Then you’d better walk,” answered Tom. “It’s good exercise for you.”

“Aw, say, stop and take me aboard,” begged Dent.

“Not much!” shouted Tom. “I’m not going to take any chances on stopping this engine now, just when it’s going good. You walk!” and as Dick steered the boat out from shore Tom opened wider his gasolene throttle to increase the speed[6] of the boat, which he had checked when Dent hailed him.

[6]

“Aw, say, you’re mean!” charged the lazy lad as the craft got farther and farther from shore. “You wait; I’ll get square with you yet!”

“Think he will?” asked Dick, glancing anxiously at his chum.

“Of course not. In the first place he won’t dare, and in the second he’s not smart enough to think up something to do to me, and if he is, he’s too lazy to carry it out after he’s planned it. Dent can’t worry me.”

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