"
"Don't raise false hopes, Bert," said Tom, cynically. "Nothing ever
happens nowadays."
"Oh, I don't know," laughed Bert. "How about the Mexican bandits and the
Chinese pirates? Something certainly happened when we ran up against
those rascals."
"They were lively scraps, all right," admitted Tom, "but we had to go
out of the country to get them. In the little old United States, we've
got too much civilization. Everything is cut and dried and pared and
polished, until there are no rough edges left. Think of the fellows that
made this trip across the continent sixty years ago in their prairie
schooners, getting cross-eyed from looking for buffalo with one eye and
Indians with the other, feeling their scalp every five minutes to make
sure they still had it. That was life."
"Or death," put in Dick skeptically.
"Then look at us," went on Tom, not deigning to notice the interruption,
"rolling along smoothly at fifty miles an hour in a car that's like a
palace, with its cushioned seats and electric lights and library and
bath and soft beds and rich food and servants to wait upon us.
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