She had to pause for breath, and Belle managed to say

“Cora!  A new machine!  All for yourself!  Oh, you dear!  Who gave it to you?”

“Why Jack found it,” Cora laughed.  “It was running along the street, you know, and he lassoed it.  It was going like mad, but he whirled the lash of his riding-whip about it and—­and—­”

“Now, Cora, dear!” and Belle dropped her voice to one of aggrieved tones.  “You know what I meant.”

“Of course I do, girly; but hurry—­do!  I want the man at the garage to teach me all about my new machine.  I call it the Whirlwind.’  You know it’s different from Jack’s small runabout, and there are several new points to be posted on.  I want to be all ready, so that when we go out to-morrow morning we can surprise the boys.”

“Oh, how perfectly lovely!” exclaimed Bess.

Delighted and excited, the three girls hurried over the railroad hill, on a short cut to the garage.

“Do you think he’ll show you?” asked Bess.  “He might want you to hire a chauffeur.”

“Well, we’ll see,” responded Cora.  “If we can manage to find a nice, agreeable, elderly gentleman—­the story-book kind of machinist, you know.  I fancy he will be sufficiently interested—­ ahem! well, you know—­” and she finished with a little laugh; in which her chums joined.

They had reached the small door of the office of the garage.  A notice on the glass directed them to “Push.”

Cora put both hands to the portal, and it swung back.  She almost stumbled into the room.

“We would like to see some one who will teach us how to run an auto,” she began.  “I know something of one, but I have a new kind.”

The three girls drew back.

“A nice, agreeable, elderly gentleman!” whispered Belle to Cora.

Cora could not repress a smile.

Instead of the “story-book machinist,” a handsome young lad stood before them, smiling at their discomfiture.

“What is it?” he asked in a pleasant voice, and Cora noticed how white and even his teeth were.

“We—­er—­I—­that is, we—­I want to learn some points about my new car,” she stammered.  “It’s a—­”

“I understand,” replied the handsome chap.  “I will be very glad to show you.  Just step this way, please,” and, with a little bow, he motioned to them to follow him into the semi-dark machine shop back of the office.

CHAPTER II

THE DASH OF THE WHIRLWIND

When Jack Kimball called at the Robinson home that same evening, at precisely nine-thirty, he found three very much agitated young ladies.  Bess, or, to be more exact, Elizabeth Robinson, the brown-haired, “plump” girl—­she who was known as the “big” Robinson girl—­was positively out of breath, while her twin sister, Isabel, usually called Belle, too slim to puff and too thin to “fluster,” was fanning herself with a very dainty lace handkerchief.