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"All right, then, we'll stay," answered Roger, after a look at Dave and Phil. "We can start for home about eight o'clock, or half-past." The boys walked back to the hotel shed and got out the touring-car. Bert took the vacant seat beside Roger, and away the party bowled over the highway that ran around Lake Sargola. "I wish we had a car," said Bert.
"Down at last!" cried Roger, presently, and a moment later the touring-car rolled out on the smooth and broad highway that connected with that running around Lake Sargola. "And I am mighty glad of it," declared Phil, as he breathed a deep sigh of relief. "Now for the hotel, and there I will see if I can't get you fellows some dry clothing," said Bert. "I guess each of you can wear one of my suits.
"Here is some more news that I overlooked," said Roger, as he turned over one of his letters. "This is from a chum of mine, Bert Passmore, who is spending his summer at Lake Sargola, about thirty miles from here. He says they are going to have a special concert to-morrow afternoon and evening, given by a well-known military band from Washington. He says we had better come over and take it in."
"I didn't want you to suffer at his hands." "I've got my eyes open already," was Dave's reply. "Let me tell you something, Nat." And then he related the particulars of the affair at Lake Sargola, and told about the burning of the garage. "And to think Job Haskers is with him!" cried Nat. "Say, they'll make a team, won't they!"
In anticipation of the trip, Roger had had the paid chauffeur of the family go over the four-passenger touring-car with care, to see that everything was in shape for the run to Lake Sargola. The lake was a beautiful sheet of water, some eight miles long and half a mile wide, and at the upper end were located several fine hotels and numerous private residences.
"I don't much like the looks of the sky off to the southwest. Looks to me as if a storm was coming up." "Oh, don't say that!" exclaimed Roger. "We don't want any rain." "So we don't, Roger. But we'll have to take what comes." "Some class to Roger's driving!" cried Phil, as the little touring-car swept along, in the direction of Lake Sargola.
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