len Falls," said Laura.
"It would quite spoil our outing, to have such persons around."

"A picnic like ours would be dead slow for that crowd," remarked Phil.
"If they stop anywhere, it will be most likely at some roadhouse, where
they can drink and smoke, and play pool and cards."

The racing car had long since disappeared in the distance, and now the
other automobiles proceeded on their way. The girls were very nervous,
and the boys did all in their power to remove the strain. But the girls
declared that they had had a narrow escape from a serious accident, and
it put much of a damper on the trip.

"If ever I meet the driver of that car I'll give him a piece of my
mind," said Dave. "It's against the law to run at such high speed."

The distance to Shady Glen Falls from Crumville was thirty-five miles.
The last half of the journey was over a winding dirt road, and the boys
had calculated that it would take them two hours to reach the picnic
grounds.

"We'll go by way of Darnell's Corners, and come back by way of Haslow,"
said Dave. "That will give us a sort of round trip." And so it was
decided.

Darnell's Corners was but five miles from the Falls. It was only a small
settlement, boasting of a tavern, a blacksmith shop, a church, and two
stores. As they came in sight of the place Phil uttered a cry:

"There is that racing car now!"

Phil was right, the car stood in front of the tavern, the engine still
running and letting out short puffs of smoke.

"Where are the fellows who were in it?" questioned Sam.

"Must have gone inside for a drink," answered Ben.

"Here come two of them now," said Roger, in a low voice, as the tavern
door swung open and two young men appeared, each wearing a linen duster
and a touring cap.

"It's Nat Poole!" cried Jessie.

"I know that driver," said Dave. "He is Pete Barnaby, a sport from
Lumberdale. He used to follow the horse races before autoing became
popular. He once tried to sell Caspar Potts a horse, but we found out
the animal was doctored up and worthless, and we didn't take him.
Barnaby was furious when the deal fell through."

"I've heard of him," said Ben. "He wanted to sell my father a horse, but
father wouldn't have anything to do with him."

While the boys were talking the tavern door had swung open again, and
now two other persons stepped forth. They, too, wore linen dusters and
touring caps, and one carried a basket containing something to eat and
to drink.