The roads are as they are, a practically constant,—­and, for some time to come,—­an unchangeable quantity.  The roads are like the hills and the mountains, obstacles which must be overcome, and machines must be constructed to overcome them.

Complaints against American roads by American manufacturers of automobiles are as irrelevant to the issue as would be complaints on the part of traction-engine builders or wagon makers.  Any man who makes vehicles for a given country must make them to go under the conditions—­good, bad, or indifferent—­which prevail in that country.  In building automobiles for America or Australia, the only pertinent question is, “What are the roads of America or Australia?” not what ought they to be.

The manufacturer who finds fault with the roads should go out of the business.

Roads will be improved, but in a country so vast and sparsely settled as North America, it is not conceivable that within the next century a net-work of fine roads will cover the land; for generations to come there will be soft roads, sandy roads, rocky roads, hilly roads, muddy roads,—­and the American automobile must be so constructed as to cover them as they are.

The manufacturer who waits for good roads everywhere should move his factory to the village of Falling Waters, and sleep in the Kaatskills.

Machines which give out on bad roads, simply because the roads are bad, are faultily constructed.

Defects in roads, to which mishaps may be fairly attributed, are only those unlooked for conditions which make trouble for all other vehicles, such as wash-outs, pit-holes, weak culverts, broken bridges,—­in short, conditions which require repairs to restore the road to normal condition.  The normal condition may be very bad; but whatever it is, the automobile must be constructed so as to travel thereon, else it is not adapted to that section of the country.

It may be discouraging to the driver for pleasure to find in rainy weather almost bottomless muck and mud on portions of the main travelled highway between New York and Buffalo, but that, for the present, is normal.  The manufacturer may regret the condition and wish for better, but he cannot be heard to complain, and if the machine, with reasonably careful driving, gives out, it is the fault of the maker and not the roads.

It follows, therefore, that few troubles can be rightfully attributed to defects in the road, since what are commonly called defects are conditions quite normal to the country.

It was nearly six o’clock when we arrived at Fremont.  The streets were filled with people in gala attire, the militia were out, —­bands playing, fire-crackers going,—­a belated Fourth of July.

When we stopped for water, we casually asked a small patriot,—­

“What are you celebrating?”

“The second of August,” was the prompt reply.  I left it to the Professor to find out what had happened on the second of August, for the art of teaching is the concealment of ignorance.