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The Complete Guide to Blender Graphics: Computer Modeling & Animation, Fifth Edition John M. Blain
Blender, the 3D modeling and animation program, is a free, open-source, 3D, computer graphics software toolset used for creating animated films, visual effects, art, 3D printed models, motion graphics, interactive 3D applications, virtual reality and computer games. Grease Pencil is a component of Blender. Blender 2D Animation: The Complete Guide to the Grease Pencil, Second Edition describes how to access the Grease Pencil component in Blender and create 2D animation within the Blender 3D environment. It is assumed that the reader has no previous knowledge of the Blender program, and the text treats 2D animation using the Grease Pencil as a standalone application.
Key Features
• A comprehensive beginner’s guide to the Grease Pencil component of Blender facets of operation is explained in short, concise chapters with cross references.
• Written instruction is accompanied by diagram illustrations in reference to the program’s Graphical User Interface.
• The text is also available in a discounted set along with The Complete Guide to Blender Graphics: Computer Modeling & Animation.
John M. Blain has become a recognised expert in Blender, having authored to date eight successful prior editions of The Complete Guide to Blender Graphics. He became enthused with Blender upon retirement from a career in mechanical engineering. The original book came from personal notes compiled in the course of self-learning. The notes were recognised as an ideal instruction source by Neal Hirsig, Senior Lecturer (retired) at Tufts University. Mr. Hirsig encouraged publication of the first edition and in doing so is deserving of the author’s gratitude. Gratitude must also be extended to the author’s wife Helen for her continuing encouragement and patience as new editions of the book are compiled.
Blender 2D Animation
The Complete Guide to the Grease Pencil
Second Edition
John M. Blain
Designed cover image: Cover art available to share and use under the Creative Commons Attribution ShareAlike license (CCBY-SA 3.0).
Attribution: Blender Foundation – www.blender.org
Artists: Daniel Martinez Lara, Javier Salvador, Maria Vela, Sergi Miranda
Second edition published 2024 by CRC Press 6000 Broken Sound Parkway NW, Suite 300, Boca Raton, FL 33487-2742 and by CRC Press 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN
CRC Press is an imprint of Taylor & Francis Group, LLC
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Except as permitted under U.S. Copyright Law, no part of this book may be reprinted, reproduced, transmitted, or utilized in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying, microfilming, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without written permission from the publishers.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Blain, John M., 1942- author.
Title: Blender 2D animation : the complete guide to the Grease pencil / John M. Blain.
Other titles: Grease pencil 2D animation
Description: 2nd edition. | Boca Raton, FL : CRC Press, [2024] | Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2023058985 (print) | LCCN 2023058986 (ebook) | ISBN 9781032631479 (hbk) | ISBN 9781032649795 (pbk) | ISBN 9781032649832 (ebk)
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023058985
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023058986
ISBN: 978-1-0326-3147-9 (hbk)
ISBN: 978-1-0326-4979-5 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-0326-4983-2 (ebk)
DOI: 10.1201/9781032649832
Typeset in ArilMT by KnowledgeWorks Global Ltd.
Publisher’s note: This book has been prepared from camera-ready copy provided by the authors.
3D Viewport Editor (Button)
Draw Mode (Button – The Viewport has several different Modes)
Stroke Type: Solid Stroke
Draw using Pencil Type: F-Pencil
Eraser Tool (Click LMB to select)
Stroke Thickness
Stroke Density Sliders
Tool Panel with the Pencil Tool selected (Highlighted Blue)
The default options mean you are working in Draw Mode using Brush Type: F Pencil with a Solid Stroke.
Figure 1.4
F- Pencil
F- Pencil
F- Pencil
Figure 1.5
3D Viewport Mode Options Brush Type Options
Object Mode Figure 1.8
In Object Mode, Blender considers the two Strokes to be a single Object as indicated by both Strokes being colored orange when selected (Click LMB on a Stroke to select the Object – Click LMB on a blank part of the Screen to deselect).
In Object Mode select the Move Tool.
With the Move Tool selected Control Handles display at the center of the selected Object.
The center of the Object is at the center of the Screen.
Tool Panel
Move Tool Control Handles. Object Center
Click on a the red Control Handle, hold the Mouse button and drag horizontally. Click the blue Handle to move vertically.
Assuming you wish the balloon to float from left to right in the scene (see Figure 1.13) as it moves away into the background, position the Strokes towards the left of the Screen. Click on the Move Tool red Control Handle, hold and drag to the left.
With the balloon positioned this will be the Start Position for the Animation.
Animations are visualized and controlled in Dope Sheet and Timeline Editors which are the two panels at the bottom of the Screen (Figure 1.9).
1.8 Dope Sheet and Timeline
Dope Sheet Editor
Figure 1.9
Timeline Editor
Each Editor Panel in Blender has an Icon representing the Editor Type. The icon is usually in the upper left-hand corner of the Editor (Figure 1.9). Clicking on any of these Icons displays the Editor selection Menu (Figure 1.10).
1.10
Figure
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HE SPRANG TO HIS PLACE
Many vehicles and pedestrians were about, and warning blasts of the horn were often sounded. But the boys, not being in any particular hurry, gave Chauffeur Somers an easy job, following whichever streets their fancy dictated.
“This is rippin’!” cried Joe, enthusiastically “Feels jist like gittin’ boosted along without nothin’ doin’ it.”
The car slowly rolled through the business section, giving them interesting glimpses of attractive stores and windows filled with all sorts of goods. They crossed and recrossed the Milwaukee River, and, finally, on one of the more quiet streets, were bowling steadily along when the actions of a certain policeman attracted Bob Somers’ attention. He was standing by the curb with his eyes eagerly fixed on the approaching car.
“Hey there,” came a loud command. “Stop!”
“Is he speaking to us?” inquired Bob, turning to his companions with a puzzled look. He glanced about, and, seeing no other vehicles near, answered his own question. “Yes, he certainly is.”
“Have we busted any traffic regulations, I wonder?” asked Charlie.
“Maybe it’s ’cause we haven’t got no cow-catcher,” said Joe, with a grin.
“Hey there—stop!”
The man in uniform was stepping out into the street, the significant movement of his arm indicating an authority not to be questioned.
“Ha, ha—somebody’s pinched—jugged!” cried Joe. “Is this the feller you want?” His finger dug sharply into Victor Collins’ ribs. “I’ll help you tote him along.”
“I’d like to know what all this means!” exclaimed Tom, in his most manly tones.
Bob Somers smilingly awaited an explanation.
The policeman, looking searchingly at each in turn, took from his pocket a memorandum book. Then, glancing over the pages, gave a grunt of approval.
“Correct, all right. Descriptions and license number correspond.”
This information, while interesting, did not enlighten the boys as to the meaning of his strange action.
“Would you have any objection to telling us why we’ve been stopped?” drawled Dave, from the rear.
“I don’t think we ought to stand for anything like this,” growled Tom, bristling up in a very threatening fashion.
“Which one o’ ’em shall I chuck out o’ the car for yer?” inquired Joe. “You kin take any but the fat feller.”
The officer glanced at him and wagged his head knowingly.
“The police station is just around the corner, boys,” he answered, quietly. “I reckon the sergeant will tell you what it’s all about.”
“The idea! Just listen to that!” stormed Tom. “I’d demand an explanation right here, Bob Somers. Don’t let those spokes move even as much as half an inch.”
“If there’s any fightin’ to be done I’m right here to help you,” laughed Joe.
Dave Brandon smiled languidly.
“In spite of ourselves, we seem destined to have fame pushed upon us,” he exclaimed. “It looks as though something is rocking the pedestal.”
“We are too polite not to accept such a pressing invitation,” grinned Bob Somers.
“All the same, I’ll bet we can sue somebody for this!” cried Victor. “My father’s best friend is a United States senator, and he——”
A series of crisp, vibrating notes from the motor drowned his voice. The car moved forward, and, always under the watchful eye of the law, as represented in the person of the man in uniform, chugged its way around the corner, to presently come to a stop before a building of a dark, unpleasantly grim appearance.
“We know where we’re going, and we’re on our way!” cried Dave. “All of us wanted in there, officer?”
“Oh, yes. We won’t steal your car,” grinned the policeman. “Kindly step out.”
They followed the officer up a broad flight of stone steps, pushed past a pair of swinging doors and entered a large square room. At
one end two desks stood on a platform with an ornamental railing in front.
Several policemen lounging on a bench looked up with interest as the crowd marched across the floor. A large, stout man, with iron gray hair and mustache sitting behind one of the desks glanced inquiringly at the officer.
“These are the boys mentioned in the telegram, sergeant,” explained the policeman. “Description of the one that’s wanted just fits.”
He waved his hand toward Joe Rodgers.
“Me—me?” cried Joe. Then an inkling of the true situation for the first time dawned upon him. “Oh, Dave, I’m ketched!” he exclaimed, almost pitifully. “Whiffin’s done it. I might have know’d he would! But I ain’t never goin’ back—perlice, or no perlice,” he added.
Joe, blank with despair, as new-found hopes were shaken, stared moodily at the floor.
“Now I suppose you’ll have to get a hundred thousand dollars bail, Rodgers,” said Victor. “Of course, this is one of the most important cases of the year.”
“Well, what’s he goin’ to do with me?” demanded Joe. “I’m goin’ ter stand up for me rights.”
“You must be detained until the arrival of the complainant”—the sergeant glanced at a paper in his hand—“Peter Whiffin. You look like a respectable crowd of boys,” he added, taking a careful observation of the faces before him.
“I’ve never pinched a better lot,” agreed the policeman.
“Sergeant, may I have the use of your ’phone for a moment?” spoke up Dave.
“Certainly!” answered the official.
In a short time Dave, his mouth at the transmitter, was explaining matters to Captain Bunderley.
“Says he’ll be over here within an hour,” he announced, hanging up the receiver. “No; he didn’t seem surprised, Bob. I guess the captain is too old to be surprised at anything.”
The crowd took seats on a bench, their lively conversation soon helping to cheer up the dejected Joe Rodgers. But even then he found the long wait trying to his nerves.
At length Uncle Ralph tramped noisily into the room.
“It just shows how careful one must be in forming new acquaintances, boys,” he chuckled. “I’ve only known you for a few days—yet here I find myself in a police station, and all on your account. What’s to be done, sergeant, with such a reckless lot?”
“That’s a hard one to answer,” grinned the official.
“Well, now, let’s get right down to business. When will Mr. Whiffin be here? I’ve become interested in this boy, sergeant, and I don’t propose to let all the talking be on one side.”
“By Jingo, if you’ll only stand up for me, mister, I’ll never forgit it!” cried Joe.
“I hope you’re going to make a base hit, Rodgers,” laughed Tom.
“Mr. Whiffin will be here to-morrow morning,” explained the sergeant. “Until then the boy will have to remain with us.”
“And I’ll be here, too, with this strong-arm squad,” laughed the captain, “ready to face the manager of Spudger’s Peerless show.”
CHAPTER XXIV
THE
JUDGE INTERFERES
T gloomy weather was over at last. Puddles and pools were fast drying up in the warmth of pleasant sunshine, while a balmy breeze had replaced the blustery wind.
“Say, Bob Somers,” remarked Victor Collins, as all were on their way to the police station next morning, “didn’t I hear you ’phoning to some one last night?”
“Sure thing, Vic.”
“Who was it?”
“You may know before the morning is over.”
“Oh, come now, Somers, tell me.”
“No; not a word, Vic,” answered Bob, smilingly.
The large, square room in the police station looked very differently from the way it had on the afternoon before. Already it contained a large number of people, and in the buzz of conversation, the light footfalls, and the appearance of a solemn magistrate’s clerk poring over a great ledger, there was something which filled those whose nerves were not of the strongest with a curious feeling of restraint.
As each new arrival entered the room tongues were stilled for the instant, for the magistrate was due to arrive.
Joe Rodgers, in spite of the boys’ support and encouragement, lacked the air of rugged bravado which usually characterized him.
“I don’t wanter go back to Whiffin, fellers,” he wailed, continually. “But I know that he’s goin’ to put up an awful holler, ’cause when I gits down to work I kin do a turrible lot.”
“Brace up, Joe,” said Dave. “You are not back in the circus yet.”
Suddenly the sound of voices and footsteps at the door much louder than any which had come before caused that particular part of the room to become the target of many eyes.
A large, portly man entered and directed his footsteps straight toward the desk behind the railing. This, and the hush which immediately ensued, proclaimed him to be the magistrate. Closely following came Peter Whiffin and Mr. Ollie Spudger.
The former’s eyes were instantly roving about the room, and his keen gaze soon picked out from the throng the forms of Joe Rodgers and his friends.
“There he is, Spudger!” he exclaimed, in a voice which rang through the room with appalling distinctness. “He runned away, all right, but he didn’t git very far. Here, you, boy”—he advanced, with his finger poised threateningly in the air—“it’s back to the canvas tents for you. Come right along.”
“I ain’t goin’ to!” growled Joe.
“Uncle Ralph, permit me to introduce Mr. Whiffin, of somewhere,” chirped Victor Collins.
The circus manager glared at the burly skipper.
“Who are you?” he demanded, roughly. “What does this mean?”
Captain Bunderley was disposed to be diplomatic.
“I’m here in the interests of this boy, Mr. Whiffin,” he said, politely.
“Well, I can’t see that it’s any of your affair.”
“Decidedly not!” seconded Mr. Spudger
“This here fat Brandon filled his head chuck full of nonsense, an’, as if that weren’t bad enough, he gits him to actually run away—run away from his best friend. Why, I could have the law on ’im!”
“I had nothing to do with it, Mr. Whiffin,” answered Dave.
“Oh, cut it out, now. Yer can’t fool me. Yer took ’im right along in the automobile. I know yer did.”
“’Tain’t nothin’ of the sort, Whiffin!” cried Joe. “I rid on the train. An’ I kin prove it.”
“What!” exclaimed Mr Whiffin. In spite of his suspicions, there was something in Joe’s earnest manner which impelled him to accept his words as the truth. “What! An’ you wasted good money that way? It’s perfectly outrageous, that’s what it is.”
“Order—order!”
A gavel banged with explosive force against the desk. The magistrate was speaking, and in such a tone that even Mr. Whiffin felt called upon to moderate his voice.
While the hearings went on, he pleaded, threatened and expostulated with Joe, curtly declining to listen to any of Uncle Ralph’s suggestions. And every argument which the manager advanced Joe, who stood backed up against the wall, met with this reply:
“Naw, I ain’t a-goin’ ter do it!”
“Well, then you’ll go right up before the magistrate,” declared Mr. Whiffin. “I reckon you’ll listen to him, all right.”
“It’s the only thing that will put any sense into his head,” agreed Mr. Spudger.
But even this prospect did not make Joe waver.
“I’ve got a tongue in me head, an’ kin use it,” he exclaimed, defiantly.
“Joseph Rodgers!”
This name called out in the monotonous tones of the clerk finally brought all before the rail.
“Where is the complainant, Peter Whiffin?” asked the magistrate.
“Right here,” answered the manager.
“Has this matter been settled? That’s the boy, I suppose? Is he your ward?”
“I’m jist as much his guardeen as if it had been writ on paper,” asserted Peter Whiffin, vigorously. “I’ve got a letter from his uncle to show how things stand. An’, besides, I’ve given ’im his grub an’ clothes for years.”
“An’ ain’t I worked an’ worked until me hands was blistered to pieces?” screeched Joe.
“I think there ought to be no difficulty in coming to some amicable agreement about the boy,” broke in Captain Bunderley. “We do not wish to infringe on any one’s rights, but all of us think that his future should be given some consideration. My young friend here”—he indicated Dave—“will guarantee to find him work in his home town, so that he will have an opportunity to attend school.”
“By gum!” cried Joe, his eyes sparkling, “jist listen to that!”
“An’ I kin say there’s nothin’ doin’,” said Mr. Whiffin, explosively
“Produce that letter you spoke about,” returned the magistrate.
“Here it is,” said Mr. Whiffin.
The official’s eyes ran over the contents.
“All it seems to show is that the boy’s guardian knows he is with you,” he said, slowly. “But, still, I hardly think that I have any authority to take him from under your care and protection.”
The expression on Joe Rodgers’ face, which a moment before had been so full of hope, changed to one of blank despair.
“Have you been ill-treated, Joe?” asked the magistrate, in kindly tones.
“No, sir; I ain’t.”
“What’s your complaint, then?”
“If I stays with ’im I won’t never have no chanc’t to git an eddication, an’——”
“That is a pity. But it is not enough to justify me in taking any action. Perhaps you may be able to make some arrangement with Mr. Whiffin so that you can go to school in the winter.”
“Your Honor, I have a word to say about this case.”
A strong, clear voice attracted the attention of every one in the court room. They saw a tall, commanding-looking man step before the rail; and they also saw the magistrate stare at him with an air of bewilderment.
“Judge Hampton!” he stammered.
The former jurist nodded.
“I appear before you as the representative of Joe Rodgers.”
“And now I know who the big Indian was ’phoning to last night,” said Victor, in a loud whisper.
“Gee, that’s the time Bob made a safe hit,” murmured Tom.
Mr. Whiffin’s face expressed a comical degree of bewilderment.
“What—what?” he gasped. “I’d like to know what right you have to meddle in this case!”
“Here’s a letter which Mr. Whiffin received from the boy’s uncle,” said the magistrate, handing the missive to the former jurist.
There was a moment of silence while Judge Hampton was reading it.
“You are in a pretty poor position, sir,” he said, looking up from the sheet and addressing Mr. Whiffin. “This amounts to nothing. The duties and responsibilities of guardianship cannot be so lightly thrust into another’s hands by a relative.”
Mr. Whiffin glared savagely.
“I tell you I won’t stand for anything like this!” he cried. “Judge or no judge, I have my rights.”
“And I’ll back you up to the limit,” said Mr. Spudger, who could see, in the way events were shaping themselves, that the circus was in danger of losing the services of one who had been trained in the business.
“I feel that the advantages which this boy may gain will so far offset any mere personal loss to Mr. Whiffin that I must ask your Honor to
parole Joe Rodgers into the care of Captain Bunderley until his relatives can be communicated with.”
“Request granted!” exclaimed the magistrate.
Joe, highly delighted, grasped Dave Brandon by the arm.
“Dave,” he said, huskily, “you’re the best feller in the whole world.”
CHAPTER XXV JOE’S CHANCE
C B , assuming charge of the Joe Rodgers case, a cause celebre on account of Judge Hampton’s participation in it, within a few days had received the following letter from a small village in Iowa:
“D S :—
“In regards to Joe Rodgers, my wife says if you can do better for him than Mr. Whiffin, and he can get some education, take the kid, and welcome. I guess he don’t owe Whiffin nothing.
“Maybe Joe ought to have a chance, as you say. But circumstances didn’t allow me to keep him, and knocking around the world ain’t good for a boy
“Hoping that when he learns to write he’ll send me a letter, I am,
“Respectfully yours, “B H
“P. S. Of course I’ll expect to hear straight ahead how he’s getting along.”
That same afternoon all parties concerned met in the magistrate’s private office. Mr. Whiffin’s bellicose air had somewhat subsided, partly due to the fact that he had consulted a lawyer and received no encouragement.
“If I knew that the fat feller had made him run away I’d fight the case to the end,” he confided to Mr. Spudger. “But, bein’ as the kid says he didn’t—an’ he’s pretty straight goods regardin’ the truth—I guess I’ll have to pass him up.”
“And, after all, Whiffin,” said Spudger, reflectively, “the boy will get the chance he wants.”
“He sure could never make no animal tamer nor performer, an’ he ain’t got the face for a ringmaster,” said Peter Whiffin. “No; it would be the big wagon and long drives for him. Besides, the show business ain’t what it used ter be.”
“There ain’t nothin’ what is,” said Mr. Spudger. “An’ I guess they said the same thing a hundred years ago.”
Judge Hampton had been quietly consulting with the magistrate and Captain Bunderley. Bluff and hearty, Captain Bunderley’s part in the conference had not been quiet.
“It will be the best thing in the world for the boy,” he said. “He has strength and ambition; and those are the only two things an American boy needs to make him a success in life.”
“Mr. Whiffin”—the former judge turned toward the showman—“our proposal is this: work will be found for Joe at Kingswood, Wisconsin, and he will be given an opportunity to attend school. You, as a man of the world, must know that this is the best thing to do.”
“I can’t fight ag’in a dozen,” answered Mr. Whiffin. “An’ I know that the boy’s head will be so turned after all this fuss over him that he’d never do a lick o’ work right ag’in.”
“By gum, I can’t hardly believe that sich good luck has come to me,” said Joe.
“You kin begin to believe it right now,” remarked Mr. Spudger. “An’ don’t never forgit that you owe everything to Whiffin an’ me; because if you hadn’t been with the show this wouldn’t have happened.”
“Yes, that’s quite true,” assented Captain Bunderley. “You do owe them a great deal. Shake hands with your former employers, Joe. On such an auspicious occasion for you there must be no ill-feeling.”
“That’s right,” assented Joe, heartily.
“I ain’t got none—not a bit of it,” said Mr. Peter Whiffin, extending two bony fingers. “What riled me at first was to think that Brandon should
have inweigled him inter running off.”
“An’ Joe beating it without so much as leavin’ a card of regrets,” growled Mr. Spudger
“But as it’s all for the boy’s good, I’m game. Good luck, Joe.”
“Whiffin, you’re all right, twic’t!” exclaimed Joe Rodgers. “You’ll find I’m goin’ to amount to somethin’, an’ we’ll always be frens.”
Yes, Joe Rodgers’ chance had come at last. Through his fortunate meeting with Dave Brandon he would be able to gratify his ambition to go to school.
“And I’m going to keep an eye on you,” exclaimed Captain Bunderley, when they had taken leave of Judge Hampton and the circus men. “Before many months are over you’ll find me turning up at the school. And if I don’t hear a good account of you there’ll be trouble.”
“And just to think,” remarked Dave, reflectively, “that to-morrow we’ll be leaving for our home in Kingswood! Seems funny, Bob, but I thought this part of our trip would only add a few pages to my history. But——”
“It means a thousand, at least,” broke in Tom, with a laugh. “When it’s finished it’ll be as long as an encyclopedia, and lots more exciting.”
The boys felt rather sober when the time came next morning to say good-bye to Captain Bunderley and Victor Collins. Each had taken a great fancy to the bluff old skipper, and, strangely enough, Victor seemed to have become a very different sort of a boy from the one who had begun the trip with them.
“Say, fellows,” he remarked, as he shook hands warmly with Bob Somers, “you can count on seeing me again. I’m kind of curious to take a look at that high school. I’ve found that you’re the kind of chaps who improve on acquaintance. Dave is certainly a winner.”
“We’ll be delighted to see you, Vic,” returned Bob. “And perhaps you’ll find that Kingswood isn’t such a slow place, after all.”
As long as the crowd was within sight of the hotel they saw Victor standing on the steps waving his hand.
“The worst of traveling around like this,” said Tom, “is that you meet a lot of fellows, and just as soon as you get to like them to beat the band you have to say good-bye.”
“Yes, I noticed you liked Victor well enough at one time to want to hit him on the eye,” exclaimed Blake. And this remark Tom passed by with haughty silence.
Once more they were at the garage; and once more they jumped into the car. The blasts of the horn which had grown so familiar to their ears again warned the passers-by of their approach.
On the outskirts of the city, Tom, who was sitting behind Dave, touched the stout boy on the shoulder.
“Look at Blake,” he exclaimed, in a low tone. “Honest—being with this crowd has certainly done him a lot of good.”
The usually timid “grind” had exchanged places with Bob Somers and was actually driving the car at a good clip along a street which was by no means deserted. And, more than that, Blake looked as unconcerned as though handling a big touring car was the easiest thing in the world.
“A few more months,” went on Tom, loftily, “and that yellow streak some of the boys talked about couldn’t be found with a microscope.”
“That’s so,” admitted Dave. “All Charlie needs is a bit of encouragement, and he will be a mighty useful member of our ball team. What were you saying, Joe?”
“That I jist feel like yelling for all I’m worth.”
“Please don’t do it now,” laughed Dave. “I’m most uncommonly sleepy, and this delightful motion is calling me to the land of nod.”
“Make the most of it, Dave,” cried Bob, from the front seat, “for the Rambler Club’s motor car is taking us nearer and nearer to the place where mighty little nodding can be done.”
“I know it,” drawled the stout boy, “and I shall assert my rights.”
In spite of Dave’s admonition Joe could not restrain a joyous shout.
And it was astonishing how that reckless Charlie Blake increased his speed after they had turned into a long, straight country road. Many a person stopped to look after the flying car, which kept steadily on and on until lost to view in the distance.
Other Stories in this Series are:
THE RAMBLER CLUB AFLOAT
THE RAMBLER CLUB’S WINTER CAMP
THE RAMBLER CLUB IN THE MOUNTAINS
THE RAMBLER CLUB ON CIRCLE T RANCH
THE RAMBLER CLUB AMONG THE LUMBERJACKS
THE RAMBLER CLUB’S GOLD MINE
THE RAMBLER CLUB’S AEROPLANE
THE RAMBLER CLUB’S HOUSE-BOAT
THE RAMBLER CLUB’S BALL NINE
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.
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