But in a few minutes the horn shrieked again. Frank and Joe, who were walking along the sidewalk, keeping abreast of the wagon so as not to miss the fun, chuckled as they saw Mr. Billers once more pull on the reins to guide the horses to the roadside. Then the farmer recollected how he had been fooled on the previous occasions and he looked quickly around. But there was no car in sight.
“Are you blind?” asked Riley. “There’s the car.”
And while Lem Billers, wondering whether his eyes or his ears had deceived him, drew his horses to the side of the road and muttered strong threats of vengeance against the chauffeur, the traffic tangle gradually abated. When he finally resumed his journey, the Hardy boys could see Chet Morton lying limply in the back of the wagon with tears of laughter running down his face. As for Frank and Joe, they laughed all the way home and during supper that evening their spasmodic outbursts of chuckles puzzled their parents extremely.
Tire Tracks
Next day was Saturday, and immediately after breakfast the Hardy boys asked their mother to make up a lunch for them, as they intended to spend the day in the woods with a number of their school chums.
Mrs. Hardy quickly made up a generous package of sandwiches, not forgetting to slip in several big slices of the boys’ favorite cake, and the lads started out in the bright morning sunshine, with the whole holiday before them.
They met the other boys, half a dozen in all, on the road at the outskirts of the town and so, whistling and chattering and telling jokes, the group trudged along the dusty highway. Once in a while they would explore along the fences for berry bushes, and occasionally a friendly scuffle would start, to end with both laughing contestants covered with dust.
When they reached the crossroads Chet had not yet appeared, so they rested in the shade of the trees until at length the chubby youth came panting along the road, his lunch under his arm.
“If I only had my roadster I wouldn’t be late,” he said, as he came up to them. “I’ve been so used to it that I’ve forgotten how long it takes to walk this far.”
“Well, are we all set?” asked Frank.
“Everybody’s here. Where are we going?”
“What do you say to Willow Grove?”
“All those in favor say ‘Aye,’ ” demanded Chet, and there was a chorus of “Aye” from the crowd.
“It’s unanimous,” Chet decided. “Willow Grove it shall be. Let’s go.”
Willow Grove was about a mile farther on. It was some distance in from the road, and was on the banks of Willow River, from which it got its name. It was an ideal place for a picnic, and as it was somewhat early in the season it was hardly likely that other parties from the city would be in the grove that day.
Frank told the other boys about Chet’s adventure with the auto horn and the story was greeted with shouts of laughter, which were redoubled when Chet told how he had later jumped down from the wagon and run along behind, shouting to Lem Billers to give him a ride.