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?”