Jimmy, in an aggrieved voice.
"You've been going to school a number of years, now, but you still don't
know what 'gratitude' means."

"The only one that should be grateful is yourself, Doughnuts," Joe
assured him. "You know if you had eaten that whole bag full of doughnuts
that you'd have been heading a funeral to-morrow or next day. It's lucky
you have us around to save you from yourself."

While Jimmy was still framing an indignant reply to this there was a
loud report, and the driver quickly brought the big car to a halt.

"Blowout," he remarked laconically, walking around to view a shoe that
was flat beyond the possibility of doubt. It was not an unmixed evil to
the boys, however, for they welcomed the chance to get out and stretch
their cramped muscles. They helped the driver jack up the wheel and
change shoes, and in a short time they were ready to proceed.

Back they climbed into their places, and with a rasp of changing gears
they were on their way once more.

Braxton Woods lay something over a hundred miles from Clintonia, but the
roads were good most of the way, and they had planned to reach their
destination that evening. When they had covered sixty miles of the
distance, Mr. Fennington consented to stop for the lunch for which the
boys had been clamoring for some time. They took their time over the
meal, building a fire and cooking steak and frying potatoes.

"Gee, this was a feast fit for a king!" exclaimed Jimmy, when it was
over.

The boys lay down on the newly sprouted grass, but had hardly got
settled when the driver, who appeared restless, summoned them to
proceed.

"We've got a long way to go yet," he said, "and the last fifteen miles
are worse than all the rest of the trip put together. The road is mostly
clay and rocks, and at this time of year it's apt to be pretty wet. I
don't want to have to drive it after dark."

Mr. Fennington was also anxious to get on, so their rest was a brief
one, and they were soon on their way again.

The radio boys laughed and sang, cracked jokes, and waved to passing
cars, while the mileage record on the speedometer mounted steadily up.
The sun was still quite a way above the western horizon when they
reached the place where the forest road branched off from the main
highway. The driver tackled this road cautiously, and they soon found
that his description of it had not been overdrawn. It was a narrow
trail, in most places not wide enough for two cars to pas