The Rambler Club’s Motor Car

BY W. CRISPIN SHEPPARD

AUTHOR OF

“THE RAMBLER CLUB AFLOAT” “THE RAMBLER CLUB’S WINTER CAMP” “THE RAMBLER CLUB IN THE MOUNTAINS” “THE RAMBLER CLUB ON CIRCLE T RANCH” “THE RAMBLER CLUB AMONG THE LUMBERJACKS” “THE RAMBLER CLUB’S GOLD MINE” “THE RAMBLER CLUB’S AEROPLANE” “THE RAMBLER CLUB’S HOUSE-BOAT” “THE RAMBLER CLUB’S BALL NINE”

Illustrated by the Author

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY PHILADELPHIA MCMXIII

COPYRIGHT 1913 BY THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY

Introduction

The various adventures which have befallen Bob Somers and his fellow members of the club which the boys formed at Kingswood, Wisconsin, are related in “The Rambler Club Afloat,” “The Rambler Club’s Winter Camp,” “The Rambler Club in the Mountains,” “The Rambler Club on Circle T Ranch,” “The Rambler Club among the Lumberjacks,” “The Rambler Club’s Gold Mine,” “The Rambler Club’s Aeroplane” and “The Rambler Club’s House-Boat.”

Bob Somers, Dave Brandon and Tom Clifton, three members of the club, have reached Chicago, homeward bound after a trip up the Hudson. The characters of the boys are widely different. Bob Somers is strong and athletic, while stout Dave Brandon, inclined to take his ease on all possible occasions, can be remarkably active when circumstances demand. Tom Clifton, a trifle self-conscious, and sometimes allowing his enthusiasm to carry him away, is really not so vain as many think.

[4]Dave Brandon, poet and historian of the club, who is chronicling the various incidents and adventures that befall them, feels that their present motor car trip will add but little to his book. A series of unlooked-for events, however, quite reverse this idea.

In the next book, “The Rambler Club’s Ball Nine,” is told the story of certain incidents at the Kingswood high school. Several of the best players have graduated, and in their attempts to reorganize the team the Ramblers find themselves involved in a stormy and exciting struggle.

W. Crispin Sheppard.

Illustrations

The Rambler Club’s Motor Car

CHAPTER I OFF TO WISCONSIN

On the steps of a house on Michigan Avenue, Chicago, not far from Thirtieth Street, Victor Collins stood gazing up and down the wide thoroughfare. There was an expression in his eyes which seemed to indicate an earnest and expectant state of mind.

The steps belonged to a fine mansion with handsome columns on either side of the entrance and an ornate balcony above. Everything suggested that the neighborhood was the home of wealth and aristocracy. Even the lad on the steps fitted perfectly into the picture. His rather small, slight figure was dressed in a natty brown suit, while a cap—a very large checkered cap—rested jauntily on his neatly brushed hair. Victor Collins’ features[10] were well proportioned, although the curves were rather too dainty, perhaps, to suit the idea of some critical lads.

Victor was becoming impatient. Impatience was one of his principal characteristics. Waiting is tedious. So Victor tilted his cap far back, the process revealing two frowning lines on his forehead which, considering his age, should never have existed.

Fortunately for the lad’s peace of mind, however, the vigorous honk, honk of a motor car, rising above all other sounds in the street, suddenly caused his gaze to become centered upon the approaching machine.

“Well, thank goodness, here they are at last!” he exclaimed, joyfully.

Running down the steps he reached the curb just as a big touring car swung up alongside and came to a stop.

“All ready, Victor?” called the chauffeur, a broad-shouldered, healthy-looking lad, leaping to the ground.

There was no answer, because at the same instant three other boys, with much noise and laughter, began climbing out.

The youngest was very tall and thin, and[11] this was accentuated by the stoutness of a broadly smiling lad who stood close beside him. The fourth member of the group, a slender, sandy-haired boy, appeared to be about sixteen. His broad forehead and delicately chiseled features suggested fine intellect.

The first three, Bob Somers, Tom Clifton and Dave Brandon, were members of the Rambler Club, who, having made a house-boat trip up the Hudson, had reached Chicago en route to Wisconsin. Charlie Blake, their companion, a classmate, often referred to as the “grind,” on account of his studious habits, was on a visit to his friend, Victor Collins.

It naturally followed that the Ramblers, happening to be in Chicago at the same time, received an invitation to visit the Collins mansion. And it also followed that, as the Ramblers were going to have the use of a seven passenger touring car, Victor Collins was more than pleased to meet them.

Mr. Somers, Bob’s father, having motored to Chicago on business, returned by train, leaving the car at a garage, so that the boys might use it for the remainder of the journey to Kingswood, Wisconsin, their home.

[12]When Victor Collins learned of this intention he instantly announced a determination to go with the crowd as far as Kenosha.

“You see,” he explained to Bob Somers, “my Uncle Ralph lives there; and he owns the dandiest motor yacht your eyes ever looked upon. He’s invited me to take a trip to Milwaukee. Talk about sport!”

So the morning had come when Victor’s anticipations were about to be realized.

“You’re all as brown as a bunch of street cleaners,” he remarked, after salutations had been exchanged. “I don’t believe that sun-tinting will ever wear off, either. Hello, Hannibal, hello!”

He turned and faced the house.

A very dignified colored man, wearing an immaculately clean apron, had opened the door and was standing with a large suit case in his hand.

“Bring it down and chuck it into the car,” commanded Victor.

“An awful lot of stuff for a short trip,” remarked Tom. “You ought to throw out half.”

“Fade away,” retorted Victor. “There’s another one coming.”

[13]“Mercy!” snickered Tom. “Why don’t you bring a department store along?”

Hannibal made short work of depositing the heavy suit cases in the tonneau. Then, grinning broadly, he drew forth a letter and handed it to Charlie Blake.

“It am just come, suh,” he explained.

“The handwriting spells Kirk Talbot’s name as loud as those checks on Victor’s cap, fellows,” cried Blake.

“Kirk Talbot?” queried Tom, interestedly. “We met Kirk often on one of our trips. Remember, Bob?”

Bob did, and smiled.

“I’m sorry that he and Nat Wingate won’t be back in the school this term,” he remarked. “By the way, Dave, we’ll have to hustle to catch up with our studies.”

“Don’t mention it, Bob. Just think of how the doors of that school are yawning for us even now.”

“They’ll have to yawn a mighty big, wide yawn for you,” said Victor.

“Go ahead, Charlie, read that letter out loud,” cried Tom.

Blake was soon smiling broadly.

[14]“Kirk has a few interesting knocks to hand out, Bob,” he chuckled. “Just listen:

“‘Dear Charlie:—

“‘Your last effusion is lying on my desk. So you are actually going to meet Bob Somers and his chums! Say, don’t those chaps manage to have the finest time ever, with their aeroplanes, house-boats, automobiles and a dash of cowboy life in between!

“‘And you are going to motor back to Kingswood with them! That’s great.

“‘But I’ve got a bit of news which ought to make Bob Somers sit up and take notice. Nat Wingate and I have formed a football team. Yes, it’s true. There’s a lot of good material going to waste here in town. And the high school team has had its own way so long it’s time somebody took them down a peg. And though we really hate to do it those chaps are in for the worst drubbing of their career, and we’re even talking about a ball nine next spring.’”

“Are we going to stay here all day?” grumbled Victor.

[15]“Just a few moments, Vic,” laughed Charlie, resuming:

“‘Now that Nat Wingate has gone those high school chaps are like an army without a general.’”

“Huh!” remarked Tom, frowning slightly.

“‘Now, Charlie, here’s what Nat and I think. Bob Somers and his Rambler crowd may be pretty good at bowling over grizzlies, collecting panther skins, or busting bronchos, but when it comes to either football or baseball——’”

“Well, I like that!” broke in Tom indignantly.

“Prepare yourself for the worst,” laughed Charlie. “Listen to this:

“‘I guess they are simply out of the running?’”

“Did you ever, Bob Somers!” cried Tom. “The nerve of him!”

“Oh, don’t worry. I guess the high school eleven can take care of any crowd he brings,” said Bob.

“There are some pretty good baseball players, though, in Kingswood,” said Tom. “I guess it’s up to us to take hold next[16] spring and put a little ginger into our crowd.”

“You haven’t quite the shape for a ball player, Clifton,” remarked Victor, with a critical stare.

“Humph!” sniffed Tom.

“For goodness’ sake, finish that letter, Blake,” continued Victor, with a grin.

“‘I hear that the Kingswood High has a chance to get an athletic field,’” read Charlie. “‘Mr. Rupert Barry owns a large plot of ground which ought to make a dandy ball park. But, so far, it is only a rumor, and maybe a silly one, at that. You would think so if you saw some of the playing the K. H. S. has done recently.

“‘Tell Bob Somers what I said. Good-bye and good luck.

“‘Your old chum, “‘Kirk.’”

“A nice long letter,” drawled Dave.

“Is that all you have to say about it?” demanded Tom.

“Well, Tom,” said Dave, slowly, “your suggestion needs consideration.”

[17]“You haven’t quite the shape for a ball player either, Brandon,” said Victor.

“Goodness—Dave’s turn now!” snickered Tom. “What kind of a figure must a ball tosser have, anyway?”

“Somers is about right,” answered Victor, calmly. “But a chap that is either all bones or all fat won’t do.”

“We’ll show you some day,” snapped Tom, hotly.

Baseball was a rather sore subject with Charlie Blake. He had tried it the season before, but lack of confidence in himself speedily caused him to drop out of the game.

Some of the boys who were not of a very considerate nature concluded that Charlie had a yellow streak, and, at this point, Bob Somers earned Blake’s everlasting gratitude by sticking manfully to him.

“Say,” remarked the latter, rather dolefully, “I’m sorry I didn’t make good on the nine last year. I certainly tried hard enough.”

“Maybe you didn’t have the right kind of a figure,” said Tom, with tremendous sarcasm.

“A nice thing to waste all this time,”[18] grunted Victor. “We ought to be burning up some of those country roads.”

“That’s right,” laughed Bob Somers. “Pile in, fellows.”

His eyes sparkled as they ran over the graceful lines of the big touring machine. It was finished in a deep, rich red, relieved by touches of darker color. Polished lamps, steering gear and levers, in places, shot back the rays of the early morning sun.

It was something to feel that they were actually in possession of such a magnificent car—theirs to command, theirs to take them where they willed, and theirs to defy distance, time, and railroads.

Mrs. Collins was looking out of a second story window.

An instant later, Victor, from his place on the rear cushion, shouted:

“Good-bye, mother!”

“Have you all those warm wraps and the umbrella I told you to take?” she called.

“Yes, mother!”

“And that bottle of beef tea, and your raincoat?”

“Yes, mother!”

[19]“And will you be sure to use the cough medicine in case you catch cold?”

“Yes, mother!”

“Well, do be careful, Victor. And don’t fail to send a card home this afternoon.”

Victor promised, his face glowing with anticipation.

“We are going to have a ripping time, mother!” he shouted. “Hooray! Let her whizz, Somers!”

CHAPTER II THE FIRST LAP

The crisp staccato notes of the motor suddenly drowned the sound of his voice. From the exhaust poured a bluish haze of gasoline vapor. The car apparently became vibrant with life and energy. Then, as the rapid-fire roar quickly lessened to a low musical drone, Bob Somers threw in the clutch.

In the midst of a chorus of good-byes, the motor car began to glide smoothly away, and, upon looking back, the boys saw the lady at the window waving her handkerchief.

“Oh, isn’t this just stunning!” cried Victor. “Hit it up, Somers.”

Row after row of residences seemed to be drawn swiftly toward them and sent slipping behind. At each street crossing Bob slowed up, allowing the boys momentary views of Lake Michigan, only a short distance away.

The few vehicles and pedestrians about appeared as mere crawling things whenever the[21] high-powered car leaped forward in obedience to the summons of its master’s hand.

Victor Collins experienced a delightful sense of ease and comfort as he watched the passing show with all the zest and interest that novelty often brings.

“Go it, Somers, go it!” he urged. “Whoop it up like sixty!”

“Restraint and caution should ever be the chauffeur’s watchword,” drawled Dave.

“That’s what I think, too,” approved Charlie.

“In cities they always have so many laws to bother a chap,” grumbled Tom. “Why, when we were in Wyoming——”

“Oh, forget it, son,” interrupted Victor. “This beats all your old cowboy business to pieces.”

The residential section of Michigan Avenue had been passed. The motor car was now swinging along by the side of Grant Park. Out over the lake they could see that the stiff breeze was kicking up the water into choppy waves and tossing about several small boats whose sails cut crisply white against the background. The far-reaching stretch of[22] water, in the early morning light, became lost in a scintillating haze which dazzled the eye.

“The clouds are piling up,” remarked Dave. “I guess we’ll have some stormy weather soon.”

A succession of views passed so rapidly that the eye could take in only their salient features. Almost before they realized it the boys were being carried across the Chicago River. One look showed them an insignificant tug struggling valiantly with a huge, clumsy barge, a myriad of masts, a kaleidoscopic effect of hulls, docks and buildings, with here and there clouds of smoke and steam. Then all was whirled behind them.

“What time shall we get to Kenosha, Somers?” demanded Victor.

“About one o’clock, if everything goes well,” answered Bob.

He put on his goggles, for occasionally the breeze brought with it a shower of flying particles.

“Good! Then we can slip over to Uncle Ralph’s motor yacht. Did you speak, sir?”

“I did,” answered Tom, with dignity. “I[23] said it might be a good idea for the bunch to stop over night at Kenosha.”

“They might stand for you that long,” grinned Victor.

“The question is: can we stand for it?”

“Maybe we’ll see you at Milwaukee,” broke in Charlie. “Too bad, Vic, you’re not going to stick with us all the way. You’d never catch me going on any yacht.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t swim.”

“Well, Uncle Ralph wouldn’t expect you to swim. Anyway, you ought to be ashamed to admit it.”

“Bet you can’t, either.”

“Your remark is irrelevant, as the lawyers say,” laughed Victor. “I never yet felt a bit nervous in the water.”

“Where did you ever paddle about, I’d like to know?”

“Oh, in a tub.”

“Fellows, we’re coming to Lincoln Park, one of the finest in Chicago,” laughed Charlie.

“Nothing like having your own sightseeing car,” observed Dave.

[24]“I guess the people around here think they are seeing sights,” giggled Victor. “With those glasses on, Somers, you look like the speed king himself. Just wait till I get my hands on the throttle—if there’s a mile of straight road in front I’ll drive her up to sixty.”

“Huh! This car has to go all the way to Wisconsin,” sniffed Tom. “We don’t want to have to telegraph any scrap iron dealer to hurry out and shovel up the pieces—eh, Bob?”

“Eh, Bob!” repeated Victor, “eh, Bob! How many times a day do you get that off? The great chauffeur and his brave passenger, Clifton! Let Charlie take the helm. He’ll drive slowly enough to suit you.”

Tom’s eyes gleamed ominously.

“Talking about speed! Why, in Wyoming, where we didn’t have any old laws to think about——”

“Oh, why is Wyoming!” chuckled Victor. “What a state it must be to have no laws.”

“Oh ho, this park is a refreshing sight,” broke in Dave—“a little oasis in the midst of mortar, brick and stone. Slow up a bit, Bob,[25] so that we may have a better chance to enjoy the contemplation of nature.”

“You talk like a botany book, Brandon,” grunted Victor. “See here, Somers!”

“Well?”

“Never better, thank you. Let me try my hand at driving?”

Victor’s tone indicated an expectation that his wishes would be acceded to without objection. At home he had been so long accustomed to having his own way that submission to his imperious demands had come to be expected as a matter of course.

Charlie Blake looked alarmed.

“Going to do it, Bob?” he asked.

“Of course he’s going to do it,” grinned Victor, satirically. “Aren’t you, Bob?”

“Not until we get eighty-six miles from nowhere,” Tom put in.

“I hardly think so, Vic,” answered Bob, good-naturedly.

Victor’s expression indicated his displeasure.

“All right then—I’ll let it go now; but just wait till we get out in the open country,” he grumbled.

[26]“There’s a coolness in the air,” remarked Tom.

He looked quizzically toward Victor.

“A storm is brewing,” said Dave, absent-mindedly.

Presently the park was left behind. On and on sped the motor car. There was so much to see and so little time to see it in that the brain of each lad held only a confused impression of many buildings, of trees and grassy stretches, and shining patches of lake.

“What place is this we are coming to?” cried Tom, at length.

“Evanston,” answered Victor.

Some of the citizens were mildly astonished to see a great touring car containing five lads whirling through the town.

“Hi, hi! catch on to the joy riders!” yelled a small boy. “Where’d you get it?”

“No time to answer questions, sonny,” screeched Victor. “This is the lightning express, the speediest wagon in the state, with Somers, the slow-speed wizard, at the throttle. Whoop-la!”

Evanston was quickly left behind. Then[27] came a succession of small towns along the lake front. The sky was now almost entirely overcast. Near the horizon rested a mass of clouds of a murky, yellowish hue which seemed to impart to the distant water some of its own threatening aspect.

At Waukegan the boys stopped for lunch.

A curious look came over Victor Collins’ face as Tom, with an air of much importance, sprang into the chauffeur’s seat.

“Jehoshaphat! Get out of that!” he exclaimed. “You’re not going to chauf.”

“Of course I am!” snapped Tom.

“Then it’s my turn next.”

“But you don’t know how.”

“What!” scoffed Victor. “Anybody can do it. How many lessons did it take before you learned how to blow the horn?”

Tom, uttering a snort of indignation, threw in the clutch, for by this time the others were in their places.

The car had traveled over a mile before Victor spoke again.

“Say, Somers”—his tone was very mild and sweet—“you’ll let me drive, won’t you—just a little way?”

[28]“A revolution is coming,” murmured Charlie.

“I’m afraid not, Victor,” answered Bob. “It’s too risky.”

“How about Clifton? He hasn’t run into anything yet.”

“Tom took a course of instruction.”

“Come now, Somers, what are you afraid of?” Victor’s eyes were snapping. He leaned over and touched Dave on the shoulder. “See here, Brandon, say a word for me. I want to chauf.”