Rounding a turn in the road, Gleason caught sight of a garage sign, and in a minute drew up at the door. "Ten shillings to put that tire on and put it on quickly," said he. Two workmen from the garage sprang at the wheel, but they had scarcely begun work when a clock in a neighboring church tower boomed the half-hour. The boys looked at each other. "I know how you feel, Frank," said Gleason. "I was a double-barreled jackass to take you off this morning, and seventeen times a fool for getting lost." "I'm in very badly with everyone," said Frank, "but growling will not help matters. Maybe there'll be a later train which will get me there in time." "I've got you into this, Frank, and I'll get you out of it somehow, don't worry. There must be another train." With the new shoe on the front wheel and the garage men the richer by several shillings more than the Codfish promised, the red runabout was again headed for Brighton, this time at a more moderate pace. It was just eleven o'clock when the car drew up at the railroad station. Frank almost expected to see some of his teammates, but the platform and waiting-rooms were deserted. Inquiries at the ticket office brought the information that the next London train was at twelve-fifteen and did not reach London till one-fifty. "One-fifty," groaned Frank. "I might as well take the next ship back to America. I've lost out. I'm disgraced." Both boys were the picture of gloom. Suddenly Gleason's face lit with high resolve "Look here, Armstrong, I'll take you to London in this machine." "But it isn't ours, and you have no license to drive." "It's ours as long as we pay ten shillings an hour for it, license or no license." "You'd get lost again." "No, no, it's a straight road. I looked it up once. You follow the railroad. Look here," he added in great excitement, "the thing can be done without a grain of doubt. Here it is a little past eleven. We can certainly average twenty-five miles an hour. That means that we can be there a little after one. Fortunately, the Club is but a little ways out of our course, over in West Kensington." "I'm game for it," said Frank, "but just the same, I don't like the idea of your going off with a machine and no license. You'll get jugged for sure if anything goes wrong." "Nothing's going wrong. I got you into this trouble and I'm going to get you out somehow. Climb in and hold onto your headgear, we are only going to hit the high places." He shot away from the station and swung into the great north road, sign-marked "London," with the motor humming to the quickened pace. "Nothing to it, Frank," boasted the confident chauffeur. "This is the way they all should have come up, plenty of ozone and action, no stuffy cars. We may even beat them to the club if we have luck," and he pushed the gas lever a few notches higher, and neatly dodged a dog curled up in the sand of the road.