“Too bad,” observed Fudge, “that Dick hasn’t got that automobile, Gordie. It would save him a lot of hard work, wouldn’t it? Say, someone may run off with it if it stays out there on the road much longer. Bet you half of it’s gone already!” There was no reply from Gordon, who was riding slowly along with his gaze fixed intently on his handle-bar. “You ought to have hidden it behind a tree or something before you came away, Gordie.” “Eh? Hidden what?” “The automobile, of course. Say, what did you think I was talking about, anyway?” “I guess I didn’t hear you,” replied Gordon apologetically. “I—I was thinking.” “Some day you’ll be doing that and get run down by a trolley car,” commented Fudge crushingly. “What were you thinking about?” “Nothing much,” answered Gordon. “Want to play some tennis?” “My racket’s busted. I can borrow Lanny’s, though. But I guess it’s too hot for tennis, isn’t it?” “Maybe. I suppose, anyway, I’d ought to see Mr. Brent and tell him what that fellow said. There’s no use putting it off. Will you come with me?” “Not to speak of! I’d do most anything for you, Gordie, but not that!” “Well, ride down town with me. You needn’t go in.” “That’s fair. And I’ll try to catch you when he drops you out the window. Come on.” CHAPTER XI FUDGE SCENTS A SECRET Mr. Brent was not in. The clerk, recognizing Gordon as the youth who had called previously and been admitted, explained, in answer to his look of perplexity, that Mr. Brent had been suddenly called to New York and would be gone at least overnight. “He didn’t leave any message for me, did he?” asked the boy. “No. He went away hurriedly. If it’s very important, you can reach him in New York by telephone this afternoon.” Gordon departed, shaking his head. On the sidewalk he was presently joined by Fudge, who came out of Castle’s drug store, a few doors away, with a suspicious moistness about the mouth. “You’re soon back,” he said. “Did he throw you out?” “He’s away. Gone to New York. Now what’ll I do?” “Do nothing. That’s easy. I should think you’d be tickled to death.” “But that automobile can’t stay out there on the road forever, Fudge. Someone will steal it or pull it to pieces or something. I guess I’ll go over to the Brents’ and see what Louise thinks we’d better do.” “Huh! What’s a girl know about it?” demanded Fudge. “Say, I had a soda. Want one?” Gordon shook his head at first but finally allowed himself to be conducted to the front of the long white marble counter. A nice cold raspberry phosphate is an awfully good thing to soothe the mind, and Gordon felt more cheerful when he emerged. Fudge, who had followed his original root beer with a pineapple phosphate, confided to Gordon on the way home that he believed he’d apply at Castle’s for a job at the soda fountain. “You see,” he explained, “I never had enough soda yet, and if I worked there I’ll bet I’d have a dandy time!”