CHAPTER III
CAUGHT IN A STORM
"Some class to Roger's driving!" cried Phil, as the little touring-car swept along, in the direction of Lake Sargola. "Roger, if you ever want a recommendation as a chauffeur"
"We'll give it to him on gilt-edged paper," finished Dave, with a grin. "But, I say, don't make the turns quite so swift," he added, as they swept around a curve at such speed that he was thrown up against Phil.
"Don't get scared—I know this car as well as Mary knew the tail of her lamb," responded the senator's son, gayly. " Why, we are only making thirty-five miles an hour," he added, half reproachfully.
On and on they rolled, up hill and down dale, and through several villages. At one spot they went through a flock of chickens, that scattered in all directions. Not one was touched, but an old farmer shook a hay-rake at the boys.
"Kill my chickens an' I'll have th' law on ye!" he yelled.
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