"When Miz Draper told me she saw a guy on a motorcycle goin down Route 415 at 95 I knew it was you. Some day you're gonna ride that thing right off the road."

"It was a nice day."

"Say, you know that big dog 'o yours and the little one with mange been gettin into my hog traps. Last time they was in there for days when I let 'em out."

"So that's where Mike and Sport been for a couple of days. Looks like I gotta tie em up."

"They've gotten in my traps a couple of times."

"It won't happen again, Will. I promise you."

"Say, you haven't seen a blue car around here lookin to drag, have you?"

"No. Can't say as I have."

"Well, there's a bunch of kids in that car lookin for a place to run it. And if I see their license plate, it'll be the wrong place. If you see 'em, tell em to get out of here. OK?"

"Sure enough, Will."

Just then down the runway there was the hungry rumble of a mufflerless stocker in racing trim. Just at the end of the runway, they turned the corner, then saw us, and zoomed off. Will Perdy and his boy jumped in the pickup and were on the chase. Kenny yelled at me to hop on, and said, "I'll try and head 'em off the other way, Will! I'll tell 'em to clear out for you." And gripping the eggs tight, I held on as Kenny charged off into the blazing Florida afternoon, down the runway, chasing after the would-be dragsters.

They had disappeared. After several forays down deserted runways and back roads, Kenny turned home. On the main highway before the cutoff to his land, the motorcycle lost speed. Then we coasted to a stop, out of gas.

I showed Kenny the eggs, the two trays all spread out beside the elastic band and the goo dripping out the sides. He laughed.

"How many are left?"

"Eleven out of twenty-four."