"That'll do, Bub! We've skeered 'em like Mrs.Zenoby's pet cat! You needn't crack that whip any more.""Whip!" cried Tom."Was that a whip?"
"That's what it was," explained the leading farmer."Bub Armstrong, my nephew, can crack it to beat th' band," and as if in proof of this there emerged from behind the load of hay a small lad, carrying a large whip, to which he gave a few trial cracks, like pistol shots, as if to show his ability.
"It's all right, Bub," his uncle assured him."We made 'em run.""But I don't exactly understand," spoke Mr.Damon."I thought you were in league with those thieves, stopping us as you did with your big load.""So did I," admitted Tom.
"Ha! Ha!" laughed the farmer."That's a pretty good joke.Excuse me for laughin'.My name's Lyon, Jethro Lyon, of Salina Township, an' these is my two sons, Ade and Burt.You see we're on our way to Shopton, an' my nephew, Bub, he went along.We thought you was some of them sassy automobile fellers at first when you hollered to us you wanted to pass.Then when we looked back, we seen them burglars goin' t' rob you, at least that's what we suspicioned," and he paused suggestively.
"That was it," Tom said.
"Wa'al, when we seen that, we held a sort of consultation on thet load of hay, where they couldn't see us.It was so big you know," he needlessly explained."Wa'al, we calcalated we could help you, so I jest quietly backed up, until we was near enough.I told Bub to take the long whip, an' crack it for all he was wuth, so's it would sound like reinforcements approachin' with guns, an' he done it.""He certainly done it," added Burt.
"Wa'al," resumed Mr.Lyon, "then me an my sons we jest slipped down off the front seat, an' come a runnin' with our pitchforks.I reckoned them burglars would run when they see us an' heard us, an' they done so.""Yep, they done so," added Ade, like an echo.
"I can't tell you how much obliged we are to you," said Mr.Damon."We have sixty thousand dollars in this valise, and they would have had it in another minute, and the bank would have failed.""Sixty thousand dollars!" gasped Mr.Lyon, and his sons and nephew echoed the words.Mr.Damon briefly explained about the money, and he and the young inventor again thanked their rescuers, who had so unexpectedly, and in such a novel manner, put the thieves to flight.
"An' you've got t' git t' Shopton before three o'clock with thet cash?" asked Mr.Lyon.
"That's what we hoped to do," replied Tom "but I'm afraid we won't now.It's half past two, and"Don't say another word," interrupted Mr.Lyon."I know what ye mean.My hay's in the road.But don't let that worry ye none.I'll pull out of your road in a jiffy, an' if we do go down in th' ditch, why we can throw off part of th' load, lighten th' wagon, an' pull out again.You've got t' hustle if ye git t' Shopton by three o'clock.""I can do it with a clear road," declared Tom, confidently.
"Then ye'll have th' clear road," Mr.Lyon assured him."Come boys, let's git th' hay t' one side."The farmers pulled into the ditch.As they had feared the wagon went in almost to the hubs, but they did not mind, and, even as Tom and Mr.Damon shot past them, they fell to work tossing off part of the fodder, to lighten the wagon.The young inventor and his companion waved a grateful farewell to them as they fairly tore past, for Tom had turned on almost the full current.
"Do you suppose that was the Happy Harry gang, or some members of it who were not captured and sent to jail?" asked Mr.Damon.
"I don't believe so," answered the lad, shaking his head."Maybe they didn't really want to rob us.Perhaps they only wanted to delay us so we wouldn't get to the bank on time.""Bless my top knot, you may be right!" cried Mr.Damon.
Further conversation became difficult, as they struck a rough part of the road, where the vehicle swayed and jolted to an alarming degree.But Tom never slackened pace.On and on they rushed, Mr.Damon frequently looking at his watch.
"We've got twenty minutes left," he remarked as they came out on the smooth stretch of road, that led directly into Shopton.
Then Tom turned all the reserve power into the motor.The machinery almost groaned as the current surged into the wires, but it took up the load, and the electric car, swaying more than ever, dashed ahead with its burden of wealth.
Now they were in the town, now speeding down the street leading to the bank.One or two policemen shouted after them, for they were violating the speed laws, but it was no time to stop for that.On and on they dashed.
They came in sight of the bank.A long line of persons was still in front.They seemed more excited than in the morning, for the hour of three was approaching, and they feared the bank would close its doors, never to open them again.
"The run is still on," observed Mr.Damon."But it will soon be over," predicted Tom.
Some news of the errand of the automobile must have penetrated the crowd, for as Tom swung past the front entrance to the bank, to go up the rear alley, he was greeted with a cheer.
"They're got the cash!" a man cried."I'm satisfied now.I don't draw out my deposit.""I want to see the cash before I'll believe it," said another.
Tom slowed up to make the turn into the alley.As he did so he glanced across the street to the new bank.In the window stood Andy Foger and his father.There was a look of surprise on their faces as they saw the arrival of the powerful car, and, Tom fancied, also a look of chagrin.
Up the alley went the car, police keeping the crowd from following.The porter was at the door.So, also, was Mr.Pendergast and Mr.Swift, while some of the other officers were grouped behind them.
"Did you get the money?" gasped the president."We did," answered Tom."Are we on time, Dad?""Just on time, my boy! They're paying out the last of the cash now! You're on time, thank fortune!"
