"Nobody. Sit down," adjured Whistler. "We're going to Elmvale."

"Wow, wow!" yelled Frenchy. "What for?"

"We don't know till we get there," declared Torry suddenly grinning.

Torry increased the speed the very next moment. There were not many
constables around Seacove, and the first five miles of the road to
Elmvale was perfectly straight. The amber lamps of the car gave a good
light ahead, and Torry was really a safe driver.

But he seemed reckless on this evening. Inspired by the same feeling
that impressed Whistler Morgan, he felt that they could not get to
Elmvale too quickly.

During the journey the older boys vouchsafed no explanation to the
younger pair save that they had made an engagement with Mr. Santley at
the munition factory over the telephone. In fact, they had no idea what
they would do, or what they would say to Mr. Santley.

The car roared on, the dogs barked behind them, and finally they came to
the slope leading down into Elmvale. Lights were already twinkling in
the valley. But the mills were closed, and even the munition factory
seemed deserted.

This time they did not take the Upper Road, but drove through the center
of the little hamlet. The stores were open and there were lights in most
of the cottages of the workmen. There were lively parties in all the
long, barrack-like boarding houses. The town was wide awake.