matter was talked over, with the result that the automobile trip to Shady Glen Falls was proposed and decided upon. All had started out in the best of spirits, never dreaming of the trouble that was in store for them.
"Dave, what are you going to do?" whispered Ben, as he, too, recognized the crowd coming toward the racing car.
Before Dave could answer, Nat Poole strode forward with a sickly smile on his face.
"Hello, there!" he cried, and nodded curtly to the girls. "Out for a ride, I see."
"Nat, who was driving your car?" asked Dave, sharply.
"What business is that of yours, Dave Porter?" questioned the dudish youth, quickly.
"You came pretty close to running us down. You were speeding altogether too fast."
"Ho! ho! We scared you, did we?" returned Nat. "Sorry for the girls, I'm sure," and his face took on a mean little grin.
"What are you finding fault about, Dave Porter?" demanded Pete Barnaby, the owner of the racing car, coming closer. His nose was very red, and his breath smelt strongly of liquor.
"I am finding fault with the way your car was run, if you want to know it," answered Dave, stoutly.
"We are not asking you for advice."
