did. Bolted, she did! Took the bit in her teeth, and went it for keeps!

Fust time I’d been runnin’ her, y’see. Jest swapped for her. Turned in a hoss and somethin’ to boot and----”

It was Lon’s chance to interrupt. “I’m placin’ you now for sure. Done a lot o’ hoss tradin’, hain’t you, in your time?”

“Yep--that’s my reg’lar line. But I got ambitious and wanted to try my luck with one of them chug-chugs. So we settled a trade, we did, and t’other party showed me how to set her goin’, and I climbed aboard and started out to give her a warmin’-up jog, as you might say. But look here, Mister! we hit a race gait right off, and the more I tried to pull her in, the more we touched only the high places. So all I could do was to hope to hold the track and wait for her to run down--which also she didn’t. Say, what do you s’pose was the matter? Feller I got her from--he’s a left-hander, he is. That make any difference, would it, in her riggin’? All I know is, when I pressed a jimcrack, she jumped; and when I quit that and started in on something else, she jumped harder. Wa’n’t half-broke, she wa’n’t!”

Lon stepped back and inspected the wreck in the ditch.

“Dunno’s I can quite place this machine,” he said presently. “Strange make to me. Never saw one like it before.”

“Good reason--there ain’t no other like her. Only one made and then they bust the mold. Leastwise, that’s what the party said.”

“Umph!” said Lon. He was still looking closely at the car, which was--or had been--a runabout or roadster, with a single seat, very high backed, and a peculiarly lumpy, box-like construction at the rear.

Mr. Haskins took a few limping steps, groaning slightly. It was plain enough that, while he had escaped broken bones, he must be sorely bruised. He glared for a moment at the ruins.

“Party allowed he built her himself,” he explained. “Let on he--he assembled her himself--yes, that’s what he called it, assembled. Got tired of takin’ other folks’ dust on the road, so he figgered on givin’ her plenty of power--and, by gum, he done it! He was makin’ his brags about the engine--said ’twa’n’t the ordinary automobile style, but a special high-speed affair, that’d been meant for one of them flyin’ machines--hey, what’s the matter, sonny?”

The question was due to a sudden movement by Poke, who in new eagerness to examine the motor, almost upset Mr. Haskins.

Poke made no reply. Mr. Haskins, having recovered his balance, resumed his observations:

“Wal, I reckon I was givin’ a pooty fair imitation of flyin’, myself. But ’twa’n’t no business for a man of my age and habits to be in--I see that before we’d gone a hundred yards. And now see what’s happened to the pair of us--me and the machine both! And to think that I gave something to boot in makin’ the trade!”

“Threw in a horse, too, didn’t you?” queried Lon.

Mr. Haskins grinned wryly. “I sure did! That ain’t what hurts, though. The hoss--wal, I didn’t give no guarantee with him; but the money--say, that was real money, and I might as well ’a’ thrown it to the birds! And what have I got to show for it? Jest a junk heap in a ditch that ain’t wuth haulin’ home.”

Poke, who had been peering at the motor, straightened his back, seemed to be about to speak, changed his intention, and moved slowly away from the car. As he passed Step, he touched his arm. Sam in a moment more saw the two, with their heads together, conferring earnestly.

Lon made a leisurely circuit of the wreck, inspecting it from all points of view. Mr. Haskins sat down on the ground, and resumed investigation of his contusions.

“When they get through stickin’ court plaster on me, I’ll be wuss off than a tattooed man in a show,” he announced gloomily. “Talk about barbed wire! ’Tain’t got nothin’ on a good, healthy thorn bush, when you dive in, head fust!”

“We’ll take you to a doctor,” Lon offered. “Whenever you’re ready we’ll start.”

Mr. Haskins, with a groan or two, gained his feet.

Poke left Step, and hurried to Sam.

“Say, got any money?” he whispered. “Quick! Let me have all you’ve got!”

Sam mechanically dug a hand into his pocket. “I--I’ve only some change, Poke. How much do you need? And what do you need it for?”

Poke groaned as soulfully as Mr. Haskins had groaned. “Oh, but you always have money, Sam!” he urged. “Look and make sure!”

Sam’s hand came out of his pocket. It held a half-dollar, a dime, and a few pennies.

“There’s my cash,” he said. “Count it for yourself.”

Poke was a picture of despondency. “’Tisn’t enough--it can’t be enough. I’ve got to have some dollars, anyway.”

“What for?” Sam asked curiously.

Poke clutched his arm. “You know the fix I’m in--about debts, I mean? I owe all you fellows.”

“Nonsense!” said Sam sharply. “We’ve told you over and over again to forget it.”

There were times when the plump Poke could assume an air of melancholy dignity. He had it now, as he said:

“I can’t forget it. You wouldn’t, and couldn’t, if you were in my shoes.”

“Well?” said Sam inquiringly. Poke’s debts, as earlier accounts of the affairs of the Safety First Club have related, followed an unhappy episode, in which a costly vase was destroyed. With the help of his chums, Poke had paid the bill, but the contributions had taxed their resources.

“Well, I mean to pay you fellows back, and I think I see a way to do it. I’ve told Step, and he’s strong for the scheme.”

“Oh, is he?” Sam’s tone was not enthusiastic; Step was more likely to be a sympathizer than a coolly calculating counselor.

“You bet he is! And Step’s all right.”

“Of course he is--he means well. But what’s the idea?”

“The bulliest ever! It’s the chance of a lifetime! But I say, Sam!” Mr. Haskins was limping toward the Parker car. “Sam, I can’t let him go till I find out if the thing can be worked. But, if you haven’t any money, who in the crowd has?”

“Lon might have some. He generally----”

Poke waited to hear no more. He sprang to Lon, caught his sleeve, began to plead with all his eloquence:

“Do me the biggest favor a fellow ever asked you to do! Lend me some money. I’ll pay you back, sure, and I’ll be your friend all my days. Oh, but I’m in dead earnest, ’deed I am!”

“Does look that way,” Lon admitted. “But what do you want money for, out here? How you goin’ to manage to spend it?”

Poke dropped his voice, but Mr. Haskins and Sam heard as well as Lon.

“I want to buy that motor.”

“What! That mess?”

“Yes; I’ve got a scheme. I want it.”

“Heh?” Mr. Haskins had turned, and was hobbling back. “Heh? thinkin’ of buyin’ that engine, be you? What’ll you give?”

“How much will you sell it for?”

“Hundred dollars,” said Mr. Haskins promptly. “Hundred--and dirt cheap at that. That ain’t no common, ordinary machine, young man.”

Poor Poke’s face lengthened. “Oh, a hundred?” he repeated faintly.

“Altogether too much!” Lon said with decision.

Mr. Haskins shot him a wrathful glance but spoke smoothly:

“Oh, call that a fust askin’ price. And, seein’ as how we’re all friends together, and how the machine’s a little jolted, as you might say, suppose you say what you think’s a fair offer.”

Lon turned to Poke, and saw the eagerness in his eyes. He took out an old-fashioned wallet, opened it, extracted a couple of bills.

“Poke,” he said, “I guess you’ve sot your heart on this foolishness. If you have--wal, I ain’t no connooshur on relics, and I dunno the goin’ price o’ curios, but I don’t mind lendin’ you a dollar or two.”

“If you’re lookin’ for speed, young man,” Mr. Haskins urged, “you won’t have to look no further. You seen me and you seen how I was goin’ it, when I wa’n’t half tryin’. And fifty dollars ain’t so wuss when----”

“Oh, fifty’s too much,” Poke said hastily.

“It’s dirt cheap,” Mr. Haskins insisted.

Lon glanced inquiringly at Sam, grunted, and somewhat ostentatiously prepared to return the bills to the pocketbook. Poke blanched, but of all concerned Mr. Haskins appeared to be most deeply affected. There was something like a sob in his voice as he said:

“Oh, come now! ’Tain’t good luck to start a trade and stop this way. And a good, enterprisin’ youngster can have a lot of fun playin’ with a crackerjack engine like this, and so----”

“I don’t want it to play with,” Poke objected with dignity. “And all I care for is the motor; the rest of the machine would be of no use to me.”

Mr. Haskins was watching Lon and the disappearing bills.

“Say, make me a bid, if you don’t like the askin’ price,” said he. “I ain’t hoggish, and I allers did fancy doin’ favors for folks that treat me right.”

“And that hoss you swapped for the car wa’n’t so much of a hoss, after all, come to think of it,” suggested Lon shrewdly.

Mr. Haskins grinned. “I swan! but maybe there’s something to that, too. Still, he could stand up and keep goin’.”

“That’s more’n you can say for the machine,” Lon remarked pointedly.

Mr. Haskins bent over the wreckage for another brief inspection.

“Huh! She does seem to be kinder generally foundered-like,” he admitted. “And you say you don’t care for the hide and hoofs, eh? The body and wheels, I mean? Wal, what’ll you give?”

Poke caught Lon’s eye. For the life of him he couldn’t explain how he seemed to read a message there.

“Te-ten dollars,” he faltered.

Mr. Haskins groaned more dismally than he had groaned because of his bodily hurts.

“Ten dollars,” Poke repeated--firmly this time; for now he read distinct encouragement in Lon’s glance.

Mr. Haskins shook his head, but with no marked vigor.

“It’d be robbin’ the poor, that price!” he objected.

Lon again produced the bills. “One five and another five,” he counted. “That’s right, ain’t it?”

“It’s wuss’n highway robbery, but I--I dunno----” said Mr. Haskins, and drew nearer.

Lon extended the money. “Goin’--goin’----” he began.

“Gone!” cried Mr. Haskins, and snatched the bills. “Done--it’s a trade!”

“And with plenty o’ witnesses,” Lon added emphatically. Then he turned to the trembling and excited Poke.

“The engine’s yours, though I ain’t got a ghost of a notion what you want the junk for.”

Mr. Haskins tittered. “Te he, te he! Mebbe he’s jest takin’ a flyer.”

Then Poke smiled, and the smile was curiously full of meaning.

“You’ve said it for me,” quoth he, very cheerily.