"Nope. Nothin' like a tourin' car."
"Rank extravagance, buyin' tourin' cars," put in another. "Horse and wagon is good enough for me."
"That's what I say," agreed the fourth.
"What with taxes the way they are—"
"And last year's crops wasn't any too good—"
"I tell ye a tourin' car is the only thing nowadays—"
Somewhat astonished by the sudden turn the argument had taken, Frank vainly tried to make himself heard above the uproar.
"But about this roadster?" he asked. "Did any of you see it?”
But the four men in the field were not listening. Instead they were deep in a highly complicated argument regarding the faults and merits of various makes of cars and they paid no further attention to the youth.
"Can't afford to waste any more time here," he said to himself, and turned away. At the fence, he looked back. One of the farmhands was shaking his fist beneath the nose of a companion, while the other two were engrossed in a heated discussion. Their voices floated across the hayfield in the drowsy summer morning.
"It looks as if you started something," laughed Joe, as his brother returned to the motorcycle.
