"Well, I reckon I know a thing or two," was the modest response; "besides, I need that money."

"But what is your plan?"

"I'll tell you as we go along. Drive fast, but don't keep so close to that other car that they can get sight of us."

"Not much fear of that. They had a long start of us and are out of sight now."

"So much the better. It doesn't interfere with my plans a bit, provided they take the same road back."

"What do you mean to do?"

"Are you good with a shovel?" was the cryptic reply.

"I don't understand you, I must say."

"You will later on. We'll drive up to that farmhouse yonder."

"Yes, and what then?"

"We'll borrow two shovels."

"Two shovels!"

"That's what I said."

"But what on earth have two shovels to do with stopping a bunch of kids from entering in an aeroplane race?"

"Carlos, your brain is dull to-day."

"It would take a wizard to understand what you intend to do."

"Well, you will see later on. Drive in this gate. That's it, and now for the shovels."

CHAPTER XIX.

THE TRAP.

For more than half an hour eager inquiries were made in Millbrook for a spark plug such as they wanted. But all their search was to no avail.

But suddenly, just as they were about to give up in despair, a man, of whom they had made inquiries, recalled that not far out of town there was a small garage.

"We'll try there," determined Jimsy.

Finding out the road, they speeded to the place. It did not look very promising, a small, badly fitted up auto station, run by an elderly man with red-rimmed, watery eyes, looking out from behind a pair of horn spectacles that somehow gave him the odd look of a frog.

"Got any spark plugs?" asked Jimsy, as the machine came to a halt.

"Yes, all kinds," said the man, in a wheezy, asthmatic voice that sounded like the exhaust of a dying-down engine.

"Good!" cried Jimsy, hopping out of the car.

"That is, we will have all kinds next week," went on the man; "I've ordered 'em."

"Goodness, then you haven't any right now?"

"I've got a few. Possibly you might find what you want among them."

"I'll try, anyway," declared Jimsy.

The man led the way into a dingy sort of shed. On a shelf in a dusty corner was a box.

"You can hunt through that," said the man wearily; "if you find what you want wake me up."

"Wake you up?"

"Yes, I always take a sleep at this time of day. You woke me up when you came in. Now I'm going to doze off again."

So saying he sank into a chair, closed his eyes and presently was snoring.

"Dead to the world!" gasped Jimsy; "well, that's the quickest thing in the sleep line I ever saw!"

As it was no use to waste further time the boy began rummaging in the box. It contained all sorts of odds and ends, among them several plugs.

"I'll bet there isn't one here that will fit my engine!" grumbled Jimsy; "I don't--what! Yes! By Jiminy! Eureka! Hurray, I've found one!"

The man woke up with a start.

"What's the matter?" he demanded drowsily.

"Nothing! That is, everything!" cried Jimsy. "I've found just what I want."

"All right. Leave the money on that shelf there. It's a dollar."

So saying, off he went to sleep again, while Jimsy, overjoyed, hastily peeled a dollar from his "roll" and departed. The last sound he heard was the steady snoring of the garage man.

"Well, there's one fellow that money can't keep awake, even if it does talk," said Jimsy laughingly to himself as, with a cry of triumph, he rejoined the party, waving the plug like a banner or an emblem of victory.

No time was lost in starting the auto up again and they whirled back through Millbrook in a cloud of dust. Pa.s.sing through the village they retraced their way along the road by which they had come.

"Just half an hour before that alt.i.tude flight," remarked Jimsy to Roy, who was driving, as they sped through the town.

"Fine; we'll make it all right," was the rejoinder. Roy turned on more power and the auto shot ahead like some scared wild thing.

"We'll only hit the high spots this trip," declared Roy, as the machine plunged and rolled along at top speed.