With a fine assumption of his very best lecture-room manner, the Professor leaned carelessly upon the delicate indicator on the gasoline tank and began: 

“That was a great day, my boy.”

“Yes, sir, it was.”

“And it comes once a year.”

“Why, sure.”

“Ahem—­” in some confusion, “I mean you celebrate once a year.”

“Sure, we celebrate every second of August, and it comes every year.”

“Quite right, quite right; always recall with appropriate exercises the great events in your country’s history.”  The Professor peered benignly over his glasses at the boy and continued kindly but firmly: 

“Now, my boy, do you go to school?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good.  Now can you tell me why the people of Fremont celebrate the second of August?”

“Sure, it is on account of—­” then a curious on-looker nudged the Professor in the ribs and began, as so many had done before,—­

“Say, mister, it’s none of my business—­”

“Exactly,” groaned the Professor; “it weighs a ton—­two tons sometimes—­more in the sand; it cost twelve hundred dollars, and will cost more before we are done with it.  Yes, I know what you are about to say, you could buy a ‘purty slick’ team for that price,—­in fact, a dozen nags such as that one leaning against you,—­but we don’t care for horses.  My friend here who is spilling the water all over the machine and the small boy, once owned a horse, it kicked over the dash-board, missed his mother-in-law and hit him; horse’s intention good, but aim bad,—­since then he has been prejudiced against horses; it goes by gasoline—­sometimes; that is not a boiler, it is the cooler—­on hot days we take turns sitting on it;—­explosions,—­electric spark,—­yes, it is queer; —­man at last stop made same bright remark; no danger from explosions if you are not too near,—­about a block away is safer; start by turning a crank; yes, that is queer, queerer than the other queer things; cylinder does get hot, but so do we all at times; we ought to have water jackets—­that is a joke that goes with the machine; yes, it is very fast, from fifty to seventy miles per—­; ‘per what?’ you say; well, that depends upon the roads,—­not at all, I assure you, no trouble to anticipate your inquiries by these answers—­it is so seldom one meets any one who is really interested—­you can order a machine by telegraph; any more information you would like?—­No!—­then my friend, in return, will you tell me why you celebrate the second of August?”

“Danged if I know.”  And we never found out.

At Bellevue we lighted our lamps and ran to Norwalk over a very fair road, arriving a few minutes after eight.  Norwalk liveries did not like automobiles, so we put the machine under a shed.

This second day’s run was about one hundred and fifty miles in twelve hours and fifty-four minutes gross time; deducting stops, left nine hours and fifty-four minutes running time—­an average of about fourteen and one-half miles per hour.