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"Don't try it Jerry, you can't make it." "Yes, I can Bob. There's more room than you think. Besides, the hay is soft." "No, don't, Jerry. We're in no hurry," put in the third member of a trio of boys in a big touring car that was skimming along a pleasant country road behind a load of hay. "Don't do it!" "Say, I'm tired of taking in all that fellow's dust," returned Jerry Hopkins. "Hold fast fellows, here we go!" He pressed down the accelerator pedal of the machine and headed the car for a narrow space that showed between the load of hay and the side rails of a bridge that the farm wagon was just crossing. It was a rather small opening to get through but Jerry was a skillful steersman, and, as he had[2] said, he had traveled behind the load of hay so long, breathing the dust kicked up by the plodding horses, that he was tired of it. The driver had been obstinate and would not pull over, and this was the first chance Jerry had had to pass.