front seat?" interrupted Ben.
"I thought we were going down on the river road."

"So we are," declared Dave, somewhat sharply.

"I hope we can go up to the Adirondacks in the autos," said Laura,
eagerly. "It will surely make a splendid trip."

"If we go in the autos who is going to drive?" questioned Jessie.

"I'll run our car, and I suppose Dave will run this one," answered Ben.
"But we can change off with the other fellows if we want to."

The top of a small hill had been reached, and now the automobile glided
down the other side in the direction of the river road. Here the way
narrowed a trifle, and Dave had to give all his attention to the running
of the car. As the automobile turned in toward the stream, they passed
several other touring-cars, and then came in sight of a horse attached
to a buggy, the two wheels of which were deep in a ditch.

"Hello! That's Mr. Aaron Poole's buggy!" exclaimed Dave.

"Yes. But it is Nat who is driving," returned Ben.

Mr. Aaron Poole was a rich money-lender, who lived not far from
Crumville, and who had a son Nat, who had gone to Oak Hall with Dave and
Ben. Mr. Poole was a very grasping man, and in the past he and the
Porters had had a number of differences. Nat had been almost as
overbearing as his father, but during the early part of the summer he
had told Dave that he was going to turn over a new leaf. And since that
time our hero had heard that the money-lender's son was quite a
different sort of a boy, and growing better every day.

"Hello, Nat! What's the trouble?" questioned Dave, as he brought the
automobile to a standstill beside the buggy.

"Trouble enough!" grumbled the money-lender's son. "Did you notice
those automobiles that just went by?"

"I certainly did. They were going at some speed."

"They were racing, that's what they were doing!" explained Nat Poole.
"They were racing, and they made such a racket that it scared my horse
and he landed me here in this ditch."

"It's a good thing they didn't upset you, Nat," said Ben.

"If they upset me, I would make them pay for the damages," retorted the
youth in the buggy.

"Did you know them, Nat?" asked Laura, kindly.

"I know one of them. He's a high-flyer from Pittstown. The next time I
see him I'll give him a piece of my mind. They've got no right to use
this road for a race-track."

"Did they hurt you at all?" queried Jessie.

"I don't know as they did. But this mud in the ditch is mighty sticky,