And through the week that followed there were no further clues. Chet had given up all hope of seeing the roadster again.
“I sure miss the old bus,” he told the Hardy boys after school on Friday afternoon. “I have to take my chances on catching rides in and out of town now. Why, last night I walked halfway home before a car came along and gave me a lift.”
“Saturday will be a pretty dull day for you now.”
“You just bet your sweet life it will be dull! Nothing to do but sit around the farm.”
“Better come with us tomorrow,” suggested Joe. “A bunch of us are going fishing up near the dam. You can meet us at the crossroads near Willow River.”
“Good idea!” said Chet. “What time?”
“Ten o’clock.”
“Fine! I’ll be there. Gosh, I see where I get a ride home. There goes a hay wagon, and it’s heading right for the next farm.”
A long wagon rumbled slowly toward the boys. A lean and solemn farmer perched on the front seat, half asleep. The horses dawdled along.
“That’s Lem Billers—the laziest man in nine counties,” said Chet. “Watch me have some fun with him.”
Chet took from his pocket an automobile horn. He had originally bought it for the roadster but had not had time to install it before the car was stolen. The horn was of a new type, very small, yet it had a particularly raucous shriek.