the steel wind-shield came sliding down from the top case, meeting the forward battery compartment, and forming a sort of slanting roof over the heads of the two occupants.
"Here! What's this?" cried Ned.
"We're going to hit it up in a few minutes," replied the young inventor, "and I want to reduce the wind resistance."
"Oh, I thought maybe we were going through a bombardment. It's all right, go ahead, don't mind me. I'm game."
There was a celluloid window in the steel wind-shield, and through this the lads could observe the road ahead of them.
As they swung along it, the speed increasing, Ned saw an auto ahead of them.
"Whose car is that?" he asked.
"Don't know," replied Tom. "We'll be up to it in about half a minute, though."
As the electric runabout, more dilapidated looking than ever from the layer of dust that covered it, passed the other auto, which was a powerful car, the solitary occupant of it, a middle-aged man, looked to one side, and, seeing the queer machine, remarked:
"You fellows are going the wrong way to the junk heap. Turn around."
"Is that so?" asked Tom, his eyes flashing at
