us lose
money. Say, did you ever see such a place as this? I've got to wait two
hours for a train back to Shopton."

"No you haven't."

"Why not? Have they changed the timetable since I came over this
morning?"

"No, but you can ride back with me. I'm going, and I'll show you what
my new electric car can do."

"Good!" cried the young bank cashier. "You're just in time. I was
wondering how I could kill two hours, but now I'll get in your new car
and--"

"And maybe we'll kill a few chickens, or a dog or two when we get her
speeded up," put in Tom, with a laugh in which Ned joined.

The two lads, seated in the front part of the auto, were soon moving
down the hard highway. Suddenly Tom pulled a lever and the steel
wind-shield came sliding down from the top case, meeting the forward
battery compartment, and forming a sort of slanting roof over the heads
of the two occupants.

"Here! What's this?" cried Ned.

"We're going to hit it up in a few minutes," replied the young
inventor, "and I want to reduce the wind resistance."

"Oh, I thought maybe we were going through a bombardment. It's all
right, go ahead, don't mind me. I'm game."

There was a celluloid window in the steel wind-shield, and through this
the lads could observe the road ahead of them.

As they swung along it, the speed increasing, Ned saw an auto ahead of
them.

"Whose car is that?" he asked.

"Don't know," replied Tom. "We'll be up to it in about half a minute,
though."

As the electric runabout, more dilapidated looking than ever from the
layer of dust that covered it, passed the other auto, which was a
powerful car, the solitary occupant of it, a middle-aged man, looked to
one side, and, seeing the queer machine, remarked:

"You fellows are going the wrong way to the junk heap. Turn around."

"Is that so?" asked Tom, his eyes flashing at the cheap wit of the man.
"Why we came out here to show you the way!"

"Do you want to race?" asked the man eagerly, too eagerly, Ned thought.
"I'll give you a brush, if you do, and a handicap into the bargain."

"We don't need it," replied the young inventor quickly.

"I'll wager fifty dollars I can beat you bad on this three-mile
stretch," went on the autoist. "How about it?"

"I'll race you, but I don't bet," answered Tom, a bit stiffly.

"Oh, be a sport," urged the man.

Tom shook his head. He had slowed down his machine, and was running
even with the gasolene car now. He noticed that it