"And last year's crops wasn't any too good--" "I tell ye a tourin' car is the only thing nowadays--" Somewhat astonished by the sudden turn the argument had taken, Frank vainly tried to make himself heard above the uproar. "But about this roadster?" he asked. "Did any of you see it?" But the four men in the field were not listening. Instead they were deep in a highly complicated argument regarding the faults and merits of various makes of cars and they paid no further attention to the youth. "Can't afford to waste any more time here," he said to himself, and turned away. At the fence, he looked back. One of the farmhands was shaking his fist beneath the nose of a companion, while the other two were engrossed in a heated discussion. Their voices floated across the hay-field in the drowsy summer morning. "It looks as if you started something," laughed Joe, as his brother returned to the motorcycle. "I certainly did. Just asked them if they had seen a yellow roadster and they started to fight about what was the best car for a farmer to buy." "And didn't they see the roadster?" asked Chet. "I don't think so. If they had they would have told me. I guess they were glad of an excuse to quit work." "Well, we'd better be getting on our way then. We've lost enough time already." So, while the four farmhands wrangled loudly in the field, in an argument that bade fair to last until dinner-time at least, the three boys set out again in pursuit of the red-headed auto thief. They were approaching Bayport when they saw a girl walking along the road ahead of them. There was something familiar about her appearance, and as they drew nearer Frank's face lighted up, for he recognized the girl as Callie Shaw, who was in his own class at Bayport high school. Of all the girls at the school, Callie was the one most greatly admired by Frank. She was a pretty girl, with brown hair and brown eyes, always neatly dressed, and quick and vivacious in her manner. As the boys brought their motorcycles to a stop, Frank saw that Callie was not in her usual bright and cheery humor. Under one arm she was carrying a parcel that had evidently become untied and the paper of which was badly torn. Her face was distressed and it appeared that she had been crying. Callie looked up and, recognizing the boys, ran over toward them. "That awful man!" she wailed, even before they had time to ask her what the matter was. "He ran right over my parcel and smashed nearly all the cakes and jelly I was bringing to Mrs. Wills!" And with that she held out the torn parcel. Frank knew that Callie, who was a generous and good-hearted girl, had been in the habit of taking little delicacies to a widow, Mrs. Wills, who lived just on the outskirts of Bayport. Now he saw that the parcel had been smashed so that only one glass of jelly and a few of the cakes had been left intact. "What man, Callie?" he asked. "What happened?"