The Speedwell Boys and Their Racing Auto: or, A Run for the Golden Cup. Roy Rockwood

it’s a new machine.”

      “I’d sell her for half what she’s worth,” Maxey persisted.

      Monroe Stevens laughed, and said: “According to your own tell, Maxey, she isn’t worth anything.”

      “But, if anybody thinks she’s worth buying?” began the owner.

      “Isn’t that just like you?” cried Jim. “I suppose you’d want half what your father paid for her.”

      “I might want – but would I get it?” returned Maxey, shrewdly.

      “Just what will you take for the car?” demanded Billy, still in earnest.

      Monroe Stevens looked at Speedwell suddenly, and with interest.

      “My gracious, Billy! I forgot that you and Dan are capitalists. You could buy old Maxey out, couldn’t you?”

      “So he could,” cried Jim. “Billy and Dan banked the thousand dollars reward the Darringfords offered for the apprehension of the fellow who set the shops afire. Now, Maxey, if you really want to sell, you’d better put a real price on your car.”

      Billy flushed. He was stirred by impulse to buy the wrecked car. He had seen just how badly it was smashed and he knew that if Maxey would sell cheap enough somebody would get a bargain. The drab racing machine was of a standard make and there was good reason why Maxey might have thought of entering it in the thousand mile endurance run. A car of the same kind had won such a contest only the season before.

      Young Solomons looked at Billy thoughtfully. Something seemed to be working in his mind.

      “You came down and saved me, Billy Speedwell,” he said. “Of course, the other boys helped, and I’m grateful to all of you. But Billy came first to my help.”

      “Shucks!” grunted Billy. “Forget it!”

      “No. I’m not likely to forget it,” returned Maxey, gravely. “If you want that car – just as it lies there in the tree-top – you can have it for five hundred dollars. She cost twenty-two hundred and fifty. I can show you the receipted bill.”

      “Whew!” cried Jim. “You don’t want anything for it, do you, Maxey? I don’t believe you can get it out of the tree.”

      But Billy had made up his mind already about that phase of the matter. And how he wanted to own that racing car!

      He and Dan had watched the auto as it was handled by the professional chauffeur, and knew that it was a wonderfully good machine. But if the car was lifted safely back to the road, it would cost a good deal to rebuild it and put it in running shape again. Still —

      “I’ll think about it, Maxey,” he said, slowly.

      “No, Billy,” said the owner of the wrecked car, seriously. “If you take time to think about it, so will I take time to think about it. I won’t feel the way I do now, to-morrow maybe. You see? You can have it now for five hundred dollars. I maybe won’t want to sell at all when I think about it a while.”

      Both Dan and Billy had put their money into the bank untouched. Billy had just an even five hundred dollars. He could not expect Dan to back him up with any of his money in such a wild bargain as this. But there was the car – Billy believed it could be saved and repaired for a comparatively small sum – and one-fourth of its purchase price, for a car less than three months old, was a bargain indeed!

      Billy took it.

      CHAPTER V

      THE ROBBERY AT THE BANK

      Dan Speedwell, in Mr. Briggs’ maroon car, was at first badly frightened, and then angry. The pressure of the muzzle of a revolver against his stomach precluded his seeing the humor of the situation.

      “Ouch!” he exclaimed. “Take it away!”

      “Surrender!” cried the man with the weapon, and then Dan realized that his captor was Josiah Somes, one of Riverdale’s constables, and a pompous, officious little man.

      “Surrender, in the name of the law!” repeated Mr. Somes, using the instrument a good deal like a gimlet.

      “Oh!” gasped Dan. “Who do you think you’ve got hold of, Somes?”

      “Eh? Ye know me, do ye?” growled the constable. “Then, Mr. Bank Robber, you know that Josiah Somes ain’t to be fooled with.”

      “I don’t want to fool with you when you act so careless with that pistol. Take that gun away!” cried Dan.

      “Hold up your hands!” ordered Mr. Somes. “I’ve got to search you.”

      By this time one of the other men in the strange automobile, had gotten out, and brought a lantern to the side of the maroon car. He flashed the light into the boy’s face, and at the same moment Dan recognized Hiram Baird, the cashier of the Farmers’ Bank.

      “Mr. Baird!” gasped Dan. “Take him away, will you?”

      “Dan Speedwell!” rejoined the cashier, in amazement. “Why, how is this?”

      “One of them Speedwell boys!” cried Somes, glaring into Dan’s face, and dropping the pistol’s point, to Dan’s great relief.

      “That’s certainly who it is,” said the cashier of the bank.

      “Wa’al! It’s nothing more than I could expect,” said Somes, shaking his head. “Them boys are always racing around the country on them motor wheels of theirn – huh! Where’s the other robbers?” and he grabbed Dan by the collar.

      “What do you mean?” demanded the boy, angrily.

      “You helped them get away,” declared the constable. “The car was seen standing before the door of the bank after hours. They shut Mr. Baird into the strong room and he was almost smothered before the president came back and found him there.”

      This garbled account of a very interesting happening was sufficient for the moment to explain his position to Dan. He knew now why the trio of men in the first maroon car had refused to halt when they had wrecked Maxey Solomons’ automobile.

      “You’ve made a mistake, gentlemen,” said Dan, quietly. “I really wish you would put up that gun, Mr. Somes. You’ll do yourself, or me, an injury.”

      “Yes, do put away the pistol, Josiah,” urged Mr. Baird.

      “But this young villain – ”

      “Nonsense, Josiah!” exclaimed the cashier. “We know Dan is not mixed up in the robbery.”

      “Then how came he by the car? A maroon car. This is it – I’m positive of it.”

      “No it isn’t,” declared Dan.

      “But, really, Dan,” said Mr. Baird, puzzled, “I saw the car stop at the bank door myself, and this one looks just like it.”

      “And what happened then?” asked Dan, curiously.

      “Two men came in. The third sat where you do – in the driver’s seat. It was after three, but the door had not been locked. I was alone. One of the men covered me with a pistol, and the other locked the door. Then they backed me into the vault and locked it. We had not put away the money. They got fifteen thousand dollars in bills and specie. They might have got much more had they known where to look for it. I had to stay in the vault until Mr. Crawley came in at half-past five.”

      “And they sent for me,” added the pompous Somes, “and put me on the case. I remembered, of course, seeing this maroon car standing by the bank.”

      “Not this car,” urged Dan, again.

      “Why ain’t it?” snapped the constable.

      “Because this car is the property of Mr. Briggs – and you don’t accuse him of being a bank robber, do you?”

      “Mercy!” ejaculated Mr. Baird. “One of our largest depositors!”

      “Well!” cried Somes. “How came you with the machine?”

      Dan