The Motor Girls on the Coast: or, The Waif From the Sea

“That’s right–sand!” yelled Ed, as he leaped from Cora’s car, having taken it a safe distance down the drive. He went back on the run to help Jack and Ed. The rain was now pelting down, but unmindful of it, the girls drew nearer the burning barn, while Cora sped toward the house.

“Sand–pails?” asked Belle.

“Yes!” cried Bess. “There are some pails over there!” and she pointed toward a pile of gardening tools. “The watering can will be good, too. Scoop up the sand–use your hands!”

She rushed over and picked up one of the pails, an example followed by her sister and Eline.

“Oh, why don’t those boys come out!” cried the latter. “Maybe they are–burned!” she faltered.

“Perhaps they can’t get our car started,” said Bess. “Sometimes it just won’t respond!”

Quickly they filled the pails with sand, and while this is being done, and other preparations under way to fight the fire and save the autos I will take just a moment to tell my new readers something about the characters in this story, and how they figured in previous books of the series.

The first volume, in which Cora Kimball and her chums were introduced, was entitled “The Motor Girls,” and in that they succeeded in unraveling a mystery of the road, though it was not as easy as they at first thought it might be.

Then came “The Motor Girls on a Tour; Or, Keeping a Strange Promise,” and how strange that promise was, not even Cora realized at the time. But in spite of difficulties it was kept and a restoration was made. In the third book, “The Motor Girls at Lookout Beach,” there came the quest for two runaways.

That girls–even young girls–do things on impulse was made clear to Cora and her friends when they sought after the rather foolish creatures who ran such a risk. That only good came of it was as much due to Cora as to anyone else.

“The Motor Girls Through New England” gave Cora and her companions a chance to see something of life under strange circumstances. That one of them would be captured by the gypsies never for a moment entered their heads. But it happened, and for a time it looked as though the results might be serious. But once again Cora triumphed.

The volume immediately preceding the present one is entitled “The Motor Girls on Cedar Lake; Or, The Hermit of Fern Island.” Who the hermit was, and the strange secret he kept so long, and how it was finally solved you will find set down in that book. Then came the return to normal life, but with the prospect of more adventures, on the verge of which we now find Cora and her friends.

They were ready for the summer vacation, and had voted to spend it at Sandy Point Cove–a resort on the Atlantic coast. It was the evening before the start, and they had gathered at Cora’s house to arrange final details.

They were to motor to the cove, taking their time, for it was no small distance from Chelton where our friends lived. The motor boat Petrel sometimes just called Pet for short, had been shipped on ahead.

I think I have already mentioned the names of the young folks. Cora generally came first, by reason of her personality. She was a splendid girl, tall and rather dark, and had somewhat of a commanding air, though she was not at all fond of her own way, and always willing to give in to others if it could be made plain that their way was best. Her mother was a wealthy widow, and there was Jack, Cora’s brother, taller than she, darker perhaps and was he handsomer? Cora had, some time before, been given a fine large touring car, and Jack owned a small runabout.

Walter Pennington was Jack’s chum, both of them attending Exmouth College, where, of late, Ed Foster had taken a post-graduate course. Ed was very fond of hunting and fishing, and considered himself quite a sportsman.

The Robinson twins were daughters of Mr. and Mrs. Perry Robinson, the father being a wealthy railroad man. He had given the girls a fine car–the Flyaway it had been christened–while Jack called his the Get There. Sometimes it did, and sometimes it didn’t. To go back to the girls. Belle, or Isabel, as she had been christened, was plump and rosy, and her sister Bess, tall, willowy and fair, her rather light hair contrasting with the brown locks of Belle.

Eline Carleton, from Chicago, a distant cousin of Cora had been invited to spend the summer with the Kimballs, and was to go to the Cove. Norton Randolf was a newcomer in town, said to be of a wealthy family. He had only lately made the acquaintance of Jack and his chums, but was rather well liked.

Chelton, as my previous readers know, was a most charming semi-country town, nestling in a bend of the Chelton River, a stream of picturesque beauty. The location was in New England, not so far from the New York line that the trip to the metropolis was a fatiguing one. The young people had often taken it on pleasure bent. And now, not to keep you any longer from the story, which I am afraid I interrupted at a rather critical point, I will merely remark, in passing, that other characters will be mentioned from time to time, some of whom have appeared in previous books.

In the excitement attending the fire, Bess was puffing on her way to the garage, carrying a pail of wet sand that she had scooped up from the driveway. She was followed by the other girls.

“Oh, see the smoke!” cried Eline. “That must be gasoline burning!”

“It is,” assented Belle. “Oh, do hurry–somebody!”

Cora came running out of the house, carrying long tin extinguishers, one in each hand, and one under her right arm. She had just bought a new lot, and had intended hanging them in the garage, but had forgotten it.

“These will be just the thing!” she cried. “Don’t be frightened! There’s not much gasoline in the barn. If we can get out the cars – ”

“Something must be the matter!” cried Bess. “The boys–they are in there yet–they may be overcome!”

As if to deny this startling suggestion Jack fairly shot out of the smoke in the Flyaway– the car of the twins.

“They have left their own car to the last!” gasped Belle.

“They had to!” Cora panted. “They could only take them as they stood, you know. They were in line. Mine was first, then yours. Oh Jack! is it very bad?”

“A mean little blaze, Sis! Did you ’phone in an alarm?” He wiped his streaming eyes, and, bringing the car up alongside the Whirlwind, leaped out to go back to his chums.

“Here! Take these extinguishers!” his sister cried. “I’ll get the department in a minute!”

She tossed the tin tubes to Jack, who, catching them, ran back toward the barn. It was raining harder than ever now, but no one seemed to mind it. The girls were totally oblivious of their smart gowns, now badly bedraggled.

“Take this sand!” wailed Belle. “I don’t know what to do with it!”

“Grab this sand from the girls!” yelled Jack to Ed, Walter and Norton, who, at that moment came out in Jack’s car. “Throw it on the blazing gasoline! What kept you?”

“Your car wouldn’t crank!” cried Walter. “It’s all right now, though–just scorched a little in the rear!”

The three lads, Norton clinging to the run-board, got the car to safety, and then raced back, grabbed the sand from Belle, Bess and Eline, and followed Jack into the garage, which was now under a pall of smoke.

The tin tops of the extinguishers were yanked off, and the chemical powder sprinkled toward the blaze. Sand was also cast on it, but the fire had spread more than the boys had thought. The choking fumes, too, drove the amateur blaze-fighters back.

Again Cora came running from the house through the drenching rain.

“I can’t get the fire department on the wire!” she cried. “Something is wrong with the telephone!”

“It’s the storm, I guess,” answered Jack, coming to the door of the old barn that had been converted into a garage. He had to have a breath of air.

“Oh, can we help?” cried Eline.

“Better stay out,” gasped Ed, as he too, came for a little relief. “I guess we can keep it from spreading.”

By this time several men had run in from the street.

“Where’s your water?” asked one.

“Don’t want any!” cried Jack. “It’s gasoline. Get more sand if you want to–dry, if you can find it!”

He kicked one of the empty pails toward the men. A flash of lightning blazed over the structure, and the thunder rumbled as the rain came down harder than ever.

“This rain’ll put it out soon enough!” shouted one of the men helpers. The boys had gone back into the barn, leaving the girls outside.

“I can get some sand in that!” cried Belle, as she saw a pan in front of the dog’s kennel–it was used to contain his dinner. The girl began scooping up in it some of the damp gravel from the drive.

“Don’t! Don’t!” cried her sister. “Drop it. You mustn’t hold metal in a thunder storm.”

“Oh, I’m going in!” exclaimed Eline. “I can’t bear to be in the open when it lightens.”

She darted toward the garage. Instinctively the others followed. There seemed to be less smoke coming out now, and no blaze could be seen.