"You certainly have a wonderful car," complimented Ned, as he
and his chum took a short cut to Shopton.
"Well, I'm not quite satisfied with it," declared Tom.
"Why not?"
"Well, I've set a hundred miles an hour as my limit. I didn't
make but eighty to-day. I've got to have more speed if I go up
against the crowd that will race for the touring club's prize."
"Can you make a hundred miles?"
"I think so. I've got to change my gears, though, and use
heavier fuses. I was afraid every second that one of the fuses
would melt, and leave me stranded. But they stood pretty well. Of
course, when the car, geared as it is now, has been run a little
longer it will go faster, but it won't come up to a hundred miles
an hour. That's what I want, and that's what I'm going to get,"
and the lad looked very determined.
Ned was taken to the bank, and, as Tom turned his machine
around, to go home, he saw, standing on the steps of the new
bank, which was almost across the street from the old one, Andy
Foger, and the bully's father. The red-haired lad laughed at
Tom's rough looking car, and said something to his parent, but
Mr. Foger did not notice Tom.
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