“Having trouble?” Marshmallow inquired pleasantly. “What does it look like?” the stranger snapped crossly. “This car hasn’t run decently for the last fifteen miles!” “Perhaps your gas line is plugged,” Marshmallow suggested, lifting the hood. “Yep, that’s just what it is. Give me a wire or something and I can fix it in a jiffy.” “Gas line plugged?” the driver grumbled as he searched in the tool case. “That’s what I get for buying cheap gas at Rumson.” Doris glanced up quickly. “What do you know of Rumson?” she asked. “Plenty.” “Ever hear of people there named Gates?” Marshmallow questioned. The driver gave him a sharp glance and muttered something which neither Doris nor Marshmallow could make out. To their surprise, he brushed past them and slammed down the hood. Then he sprang into the roadster and without a word of explanation started the motor and drove rapidly away. CHAPTER II A FRIENDLY NOTE “Well, what do you know about that?” Marshmallow ejaculated, as he watched the red roadster vanish down the street. “I would have fixed his old gas line if he hadn’t been in such a rush. The big grouch! I hope it plugs up so badly he can’t keep going!” “I don’t see what made him drive off in such a hurry,” Doris returned. “We just asked him if he knew any one by the name of Gates and he looked at us so suspiciously—or rather, I should say guardedly. I wish I knew where Rumson was. I’m beginning to get interested.” “Let’s look it up on the map,” Marshmallow suggested. “There’s one in the house.” They hurried up the walk toward the Mallow residence. It was a modern brick English type structure, located on a shady side street of Chilton in the suburbs of Plainfield, and was one of the most attractive houses in the city. The grounds were beautifully landscaped with silver-tipped evergreens, an abundance of rhododendrons and scarlet azaleas. The interior of the house was equally inviting, for Mrs. Mallow was noted as an excellent housekeeper. Marshmallow found the road map in the desk and brought it out upon the porch. Doris spread it out between them and they pored over it. “Here it is,” Marshmallow declared after a little search. “It can’t be more than fifty miles away. You take the Center Ridge road. It’s just a small town. You’d have a heck of a summer there.” “It’s out in the direction Dave lives,” Doris remarked absently. “Oh, sure, I forgot that!” Marshmallow drawled teasingly. “You’ll have a peach of a time.” “And there’s an aviation field near Rumson,” Doris went on, scarcely noticing what her companion had said. “That means Dave can fly down to see you every day or so. No wonder girls fall for fellows that are aviators!” “Dave isn’t a full-fledged one yet,” Doris returned proudly, “but he’ll soon finish his flying course and then he expects to get a license.” “Transport or marriage?” Marshmallow grinned. “Oh, go chase yourself!” Doris retorted slangily.