of their fur coats, down on their knees, and jacking up the
axle.

"On an expedition of this sort," said Brother Sam, "whatever
happens, take it as a joke. Fortunately," he explained, "I
don't understand fixing inner tubes, so I will get out and
smoke. I have noticed that when a car breaks down, there is
always one man who paces up and down the road and smokes. His
hope is to fool passing cars into thinking that the people in
his car stopped to admire the view."

Recognizing the annual football match as intended solely to
replenish the town coffers, the thrifty townsfolk of Rye, with
bicycles and red flags, were, as usual, and regardless of the
speed at which it moved, levying tribute on every second car
that entered their hospitable boundaries. But before the
Scarlet Car reached Rye, small boys of the town, possessed of
a sporting spirit, or of an inherited instinct for graft, were
waiting to give a noisy notice of the ambush. And so,
fore-warned, the Scarlet Car crawled up the main street of Rye
as demurely as a baby-carriage, and then, having safely
reached a point directly in front of the police station, with
a loud and ostentatious report, blew up another tire.

"Well," said Sam crossly, "they can't arrest US for
speeding."

"Whatever happens," said his sister, "take it as a joke."

Two miles outside of Stamford, Brother Sam burst into open