“There’s Bladensburg,” Tom pointed to the church spires and roofs of houses showing plainly among the leafless trees. “These houses,” motioning to his right, “are some of them very old, the estates having been owned by prominent colonials.” “Where’s the battlefield?” “Right here,” indicating the road they were on. “The fighting began beyond the further bridge spanning the eastern branch of the Potomac, and our troops fell back through the village and down this turnpike, the British in hot pursuit.” Janet’s active imagination instantly conjured up a vision of the fighting, flying men, and the quiet sleepy Maryland village became transformed to her; she could almost hear the rattle of muskets, hoarse commands, and the roar of cannon, so vivid was the illusion. Tom brought his car to a standstill at the side of the road near a short bridge, and pointed to a dip in the rolling meadow through which a creek meandered in long and graceful curves. “The famous dueling ground of Bladensburg,” he explained. “It was there that Commodore Stephen Decatur, the ‘Bayard of the Seas,’ met his brother officer, James Barron, and fell mortally wounded by him. I believe in those days trees masked the gully from sight; anyway our fiery statesmen of the past came out to this ‘field of honor’ to get satisfaction from their enemies and traducers.” “What excitement would ensue if they did it now!” Janet thrilled at the thought. “Congressmen of today belong to the ancient and honorable order of ink-slingers,” answered Tom. “This dueling ground never saw an opera bouffe affair. Men here fought to kill, and generally succeeded in their object.” “Isn’t the Calvert Mansion somewhere in this neighborhood?” “Yes, at Riverdale. It’s the Lord Baltimore Club now. We’ll run up there and you can see it,” starting the motor as he spoke. “I think we ought to be getting back,” said Janet regretfully. “There’s plenty of time,” eagerly. “Riverdale’s only a little over a mile away; we’ll be there before you know it.” Tom kept the car down to reasonable speed while passing through Bladensburg, then opened the throttle, and they sped down the State road like an arrow shot from a bow. Suddenly above the whistling of the wind past his ears and the low hum of his straining engine, Tom heard an authoritative hail and discovered a rope stretched across the road some distance ahead, and two constables on guard. Looking backward he dimly made out, through the dust, a motor cyclist following them, and realizing he was in a trap, he brought his car to second speed. “Stop your engine,” commanded the constable, catching up with him. Tom thought quickly. Had he been alone, he would have tried to get away, but Janet’s presence prevented any attempt at evading the law. “What’s the trouble, constable?” he demanded. The man laughed. “Speeding and joy-riding are the charges.” “Oh, come. I wasn’t breaking the regulations....”