So they went outside and soon found a place for it some twelve feet from the stable and a little further from the house. It was rather far from the grass-grown drive that led from stable to street, but Tom declared that it wouldn’t be any trick to lug the gasoline in a pail from the barrel to the car. Besides, he pointed out, there was a pear tree there and the foliage would serve as a roof. To make assurance doubly sure Tom went into the house and informed Jimmy Brennan by telephone that the car would be there that evening ready for him to work on. Then the boys each took a shaft of the buggy and gaily started along Cross Street for Saunders’ Carriage Works. They had only three blocks to go with it, but it seemed as though every fellow they knew was encountered in that short journey! Near the corner of Spruce Street, Jimmy Lippit was leaning over his front gate and hailed them with delight. “Get ap!” he shouted. “Where you going with the buggy, Tom?” “Saunders’,” replied Tom. “Have you got a new horse?” “No, I’m taking it over to have it stored.” “Give me a ride, will you?” Jimmy, who was a slim, freckle-faced boy of fifteen, emerged from his yard and joined them. “Go on, Tom, let me get in there, will you?” “No, sir, you keep out of there. Hi, there! Quit that!” Teddy Thurston had stolen up behind and was pushing heroically, and Tom and Willard had to dig their heels in the dirt to keep from being run down. Willard chased Teddy to the sidewalk, but in the meantime Jimmy had crawled into the buggy. It took several minutes to dislodge him and by the time he was pulled out four or five other fellows had congregated. Tom and Willard were vastly outnumbered and the buggy completed its journey most spectacularly. Jimmy Lippit and a boy named Converse occupied the seat, two small boys sat in the box behind and the rest helped pull. The buggy crossed Washington Street in defiance of all speed regulations――if there were any in Audelsville――and to the accompaniment of much laughter and shouting. Jimmy held an imaginary pair of reins and cracked an imaginary whip, while Converse clutched him in simulated terror as the vehicle bounded over the car rails. “Git ap!” shouted Jimmy. “Save me! Save me!” shrieked Converse. “They’re running away!” “Faster, you old plugs!” commanded Jimmy, slashing the imaginary whip. “Faster, or I’ll sell the lot of you!” Down Walnut Street they galloped, the buggy creaking and protesting in every spring and rivet, and drew up with a final flourish in front of the carriage works. “_Whoa!_” shouted Jimmy. “_Whoa_, you ponies! Say, I guess I’m some driver, fellows! Did you see me pull ’em back on their haunches? Mr. Saunders, please unharness my steeds.”