Dorothy's Triumph

“You all can come into the dinin’-room now.”

He led the way through the hall and into a small, though comfortable, room, where the landlady had already begun to serve the breakfast.

Their appetites sharpened by the ride, everyone did ample justice to the things which were put before them. Even Aunt Betty, usually a light eater, consumed three eggs, two glasses of milk and a plate of fried bacon, topping them off with a cup of strong coffee.

“Whatever has come over you?” cried Dorothy in delight. “I never knew you to eat so much for breakfast, auntie, dear.”

“I just wanted it,” was Aunt Betty’s response, “and, wanting it, I see no reason why I should not have it. I have no intention of denying myself what sustenance I require.”

“Then never talk to me again about being an invalid!” cried the girl. “When I came back to Bellvieu I was led to believe that you were fast failing in health. But, as yet, I have seen no indication that you are not as hale and hearty as the best of us.”

“I feel some better – that I will freely admit.”

“And at the end of our camping trip you are going to feel better still. Who knows? You may take on ten or twelve pounds in weight.” This from Jim.

“Well, let us hope not. I am carrying now all the flesh I am able to put up with.”

Breakfast over at last, the party lost no time in re-embarking, and soon the big Ajax, given a new lease on life by reason of a sharp turn of the crank in front, was again speeding on its way.

The car proved itself an excellent traveler. The roads were rough in many places, yet not once during the day did any trouble arise either from mechanism or tires.

The machine proceeded at a steady gait until shortly after noon, when, in another village some forty odd miles from Baltimore, the party stopped for lunch.

Here the supply of gasoline was replenished, Gerald having already been forced to draw upon his reserve. This was necessitated by his having forgotten to fill his tank before leaving home.

“I don’t know how I came to neglect such an important matter,” he said to Jim. He seemed rather piqued.

“Mistakes will happen, no matter what you are doing or where you are,” was Jim’s reply, intended to be consoling. “Suppose we had run out of gasoline between towns, though?”

Gerald grinned at the thought.

“But we didn’t,” he said.

“Yes; but if we had?”

“Well, some of us would have taken a little journey, to the nearest available supply, and brought some back with us – that’s all. Fortunately, in these days of the automobile, an ample supply of gasoline may be found at any country store. There was a time when it was as hard as the mischief to get it.”

“How far can you run with one supply?”

“Seventy-five miles, without the reserve, which is good for another forty.”

“This machine seems complete in every particular, with its reserve tank, and store box behind.”

“Surely. While called a touring car, it has many of the features of a roadster.”

“A roadster?”

“Yes; a car built for traveling across country – one you can take long trips in – a car built to stand no end of wear and tear.”

“All right, boys!” Aurora called out at this moment. “We’re through lunch. Let’s be moving. You know we want to get as near the mountains as possible before putting up for the night.”

So on they went, the country spreading out before them in gentle undulations. The Ajax would climb a low hill to pass the pinnacle and go bowling down into some miniature valley, over foot-bridges and through grove after grove of pretty trees. It seemed that old Mother Nature had spread on the scenic touches with a master hand in this part of Maryland, and the occupants of the car thoroughly enjoyed themselves, particularly as the recent rains had soaked the dirt so thoroughly it had not yet had time to resolve itself again into dust.

Farmers stopped to watch them, often to wave hat or handkerchief as they went flying past. To these salutations the girls took delight in replying, greatly to the disgust and chagrin of Jim Barlow.

“Why, you don’t even know them!” he said to Dorothy in a sternly reproving tone, when she chided him gently about a reproof he had just administered to Molly, who had become quite enthusiastic in her efforts to attract the attention of a young farmer lad who was plowing in a nearby field.

“Neither do they know us,” the girl responded. “Besides, Molly is her own mistress, and you have no right to tell her she may or may not do as she pleases.”

“But I can express my opinion on the subject,” growled Jim. “This is a free country.”

“Ugh! He’s a regular bear to-day, girls,” said Aurora. “Let’s leave him alone until he can be civil.”

Which made Jim grate his teeth in rage. He gradually cooled off, however, when he found that no one was paying any attention to him, and by the middle of the afternoon was laughing and chatting as gayly as ever.

Villages appeared before their gaze every few miles, only to vanish behind them as they went down the main street, the hoarse-voiced horn sending out its warning to pedestrians. Their speed was clearly within the limits of what was required by law, however, so they experienced no trouble from country constables, as is often the case when automobile parties go on tour.

Throughout the afternoon the big auto kept up its steady gait, reeling off mile after mile, until the sun had disappeared below the horizon. Just when dusk was ready to envelop the land they descried in the distance a good-sized town, and beyond it some miles the eastern spur of the South Mountains.

“There, children, is where we will be camping if all goes well to-morrow,” said Aunt Betty.

“Sounds mighty good to me,” said Gerald. “Here, Ephy, take hold of this steering wheel awhile. I’m going to stretch myself and gaze out over the country a bit.”

Ephraim, delighted at the confidence reposed in him by the boy, clambered into the front seat, while Gerald took one of the small seats in the rear compartment, facing Jim.

Sometime later Ephraim guided the car into the main street of the village, and, at Aunt Betty’s suggestion stopped before what seemed to be a hotel of the better class. Upon investigation accommodations were found to be so tempting, the party decided to spend the night. Gerald registered for the crowd, while Ephraim, with a stable boy belonging at the hotel, took the Ajax around to the rear where shelter might be had from the elements.

Supper was served at seven-thirty in a large and commodious dining-room, and the campers sustained their reputations for ravenous eaters so well that the proprietor secretly wrung his hands in despair. Had these city folks come to eat him out of house and home? he wondered.

He was glad when the meal was over, and the visitors had departed down the street in search of amusement before turning in.

This amusement was found at the town hall, where a cheap theatrical company was offering the time-worn favorite, “Lady Audley’s Secret.” Even Aunt Betty enjoyed the old play which she had not seen for years, though she declared that the scene at the well gave her a fit of the “creeps.”

The company was a very mediocre one – in fact, an organization which made its living off of small town audiences, where the standard set is not so high, and a little less for the money does not seem to matter.

To bed at eleven and up at six was the story of the night, as recorded by the master of ceremonies, James Barlow, who was the first to awaken in the morning, and who aroused Ephraim and told him to wake the others.

The proprietor of the hotel, evidently fearing a repetition of the night before, was careful to put on the table only such food as he felt his guests should have, and when a second portion was asked for his solitary waiter was instructed to say that the concern was out of that particular dish.

While Jim and Molly were hardly satisfied at being limited to but one batch of pan-cakes each, they were too eager to be on their way to register a protest.

As soon as the sun had risen the South Mountains loomed up distinctly to the west, the purple haze which had enveloped them the night before being gone. Instead, the sun seemed to glint off the peaks like burnished gold. However, as Old Sol rose higher, this effect was gradually dissipated, and after a two hours’ ride, during which the progress was very slow on account of the condition of the roads, the party found themselves in the foothills, with the mountains looming close at hand.

A pretty sight lay before their eyes a short time later, when Gerald stopped the machine half way up the side of one of the mountains, and they gazed out over the valley, through which a silvery stream of water flowed merrily toward the Potomac. Then, their eyes thoroughly satiated, they began to look for a suitable place in which to make their camp.

“Seems to me there’s a desirable spot over there on that plateau,” said Dorothy. “There are lots of fine shade trees, and we would have an excellent view of the valley. And then, if I am not mistaken, that path leading down the mountainside goes to yonder village, and it is just as well to be in close proximity to what supplies we may need.”

“That village is farther away than you think,” said Jim.