to the Porters--had been
brought around, with Dunston Porter at the wheel, for the old hunter
and traveler had taken a strong liking to autoing. The girls and boys
had piled in, after much handshaking and some kisses, and now the car
was rolling out of the grounds, leaving Mr. and Mrs. Wadsworth, Dave's
father, and old Caspar Potts standing on the piazza, waving the
travelers adieu.

"Take care of yourself, my boy!" shouted Mr. Porter.

"I will, Dad!" called back Dave. "You take it easy till I get back,"
he added, for he knew that his parent had been working hard of late.

"I hate to see Dave go--he is so full of life and good cheer,"
murmured Mrs. Wadsworth, with a sigh.

"Best lad in the world," added her husband.

"Yes, yes! The very best!" came in a quavering voice from old Caspar
Potts, and the tears stood in his glistening eyes.

"I trust he comes through this year at Oak Hall all right," resumed
Mr. Porter, as, the automobile having disappeared, those left behind
reentered the house. "He wishes to graduate, you know."

"Don't you think he'll come through?" asked the manufacturer,
quickly.

"I'm not sure about it. He has lost so much time--on that trip he and
the others took--you know."

"That is true."

"Oh, Davy will come through, never fear!" cried Caspar Potts. "I know
the lad. If he makes up his mind--well, it's as good as done," and he
nodded his whitened head several times. To the old college professor
who knew him so well, there was no youth quite so clever and manly as
Dave Porter.

In the meantime the big touring car was leaving Crumville rapidly
behind. On the front seat, beside Mr. Porter, sat Phil, waving an Oak
Hall banner and cracking all kinds of jokes. In the back were the two
girls with Dave and Roger. All were well bundled up, for the air,
though clear, was still cold.

"Here is where we make fifty miles an hour!" cried the shipowner's
son, gayly.

"Oh, Phil!" burst out Laura. "Fifty miles an hour! Uncle Dunston,
don't you dare----"

"Phil is fooling," interrupted her uncle.

"That's it--I made a mistake--we are to go at sixty miles an hour,
just as soon as we pass the next chicken coop. We won't dare do it
before, for fear of blowing the coop over. We----"

"Why not make it seventy-five miles while you are at it," broke in
Dave. "Nothing like going the limit." And at this there was a general
laugh.

"There is a bad turn ahead," said Dunston Porter, a minute later.
"The