On the following day the two boys drove to Cleveland together. Mr. Mapes’s horse was a capital roadster, and Edwin understood well how to drive him, and James could ride as fast as Edwin could drive, without raising a serious objection. So their trip was quick, and devoid of monotony.

On their return, a rough, bloated fellow rode up behind them, and shouted with a volley of oaths:

“Out the way, boys, I’m in a hurry!” and suiting his motions to the word, he turned out to drive by them.

“No, you don’t,” shouted Edwin, as he drew the reins tight, and gave his horse a cut with the whip; and almost side by side the two teams flew along the road for a half-mile, the whisky-soaked traveller pouring out oaths at the boys with every blow of his whip.

“Come on,” shouted Edwin to the fellow, at the same time beckoning with his hand to him when he had left him ten or fifteen rods in the rear. “Come on! Come on!”

They were too far in advance to hear his voice, but they could see the fellow’s very expressive gesticulations with his fist. James enjoyed the victory hugely, and shook his sides with laughter.

“He told us to get out of the way, and we have,” was about all the remark that James made during the contest.

They drove on at a very good pace three or four miles, when they came up to a little country inn, with which both of them were familiar.

“Let’s go in and warm,” proposed James; “my feet are cold as ice.”

“Agreed,” answered Edwin; and turned the horse into the shed. In less than five minutes they were standing before the landlord’s fire. In less than five minutes more the enraged man who tried to run by them drove up, and entered.

“I’ve a good will to thrash you boys,” he shouted at the top of his voice.

The boys were very much surprised to see him in such a passion.

“What you going to thrash us for?” answered Edwin.

“Thrash you for, you insulting scamps? I’ll let you know,” and he shook his fist in the liveliest manner, at the same time belching forth a volley of oaths, that we omit, since they did not embellish his language, though they contributed some force to it.

“Why didn’t you let me go by, you young rascals?” he continued.

“You had a plenty of room to pass; as much room as we had, and the same right to the road,” replied James, coolly.

“But I couldn’t,” the fellow bellowed, “you good-for-nothing brats!”

“That’s not our fault,” returned James. “Better blame your horse.”

The latter sentence had a ring of sarcasm in it, especially as the boys laughed when it was spoken; and the brutal man stormed again, and swore he would thrash them.

“Better thrash me first,” said James, straightening himself up to his full height, and appearing more like a strong man than a boy of fourteen years. The bully looked at him for a moment, as if querying whether his antagonist was not a man after all.

“Why take you first?” he said, apparently somewhat cowed.