"Thunder!" said Bud, and looked around at Foster. "Do you reckon the old

boat is jinxed, just because I said I could drive her as far as she'd

go? The old rip ain't shot a cylinder since we hit the top of the hill."

"Maybe the mixture--"

"Yeah," Bud interrupted with a secret grin, "I've been wondering about

that, and the needle valve, and the feed pipe, and a few other little

things. Well, we'll have a look."

Forthwith he climbed out into the drizzle and began a conscientious

search for the trouble. He inspected the needle valve with much care,

and had Foster on the front seat trying to start her afterwards. He

looked for short circuit. He changed the carburetor adjustment, and

Foster got a weary chug-chug that ceased almost as soon as it had begun.

He looked all the spark plugs over, he went after the vacuum feed and

found that working perfectly. He stood back, finally, with his hands on

his hips, and stared at the engine and shook his head slowly twice.

Foster, in the driver's seat, swore and tried again to start it. "Maybe

if you cranked it," he suggested tentatively.

"What for? The starter turns her over all right. Spark's all right too,

strong and hot. However--" With a sigh of resignation Bud got out what

tools he wanted and went to work. Foster got out and stood around,

offering suggestions that were too obvious to be of much use, but which

Bud made it a point to follow as far as was practicable.

Foster said it must be the carburetor, and Bud went relentlessly after

the carburetor. He impressed Foster with the fact that he knew cars, and

when he told Foster to get in and try her again, Foster did so with the

air of having seen the end of the trouble. At first it did seem so, for

the engine started at once and worked smoothly until Bud had gathered

his wrenches off the running board and was climbing it, when it slowed

down and stopped, in spite of Foster's frantic efforts to keep it alive

with spark and throttle.

"Good Glory!" cried Bud, looking reproachfully in at Foster. "What'd yuh

want to stop her for?"

"I didn't!" Foster's consternation was ample proof of his innocence.

"What the devil ails the thing?"

"You tell me, and I'll fix it," Bud retorted savagely. Then he smoothed

his manner and went back to the carburetor. "Acts like the gas kept

choking off," he said, "but it ain't that. She's O.K. I know, 'cause

I've tested it clean back to tank. There's nothing the matter with the

feed--she's getting gas same as she has all along. I can take off the

mag. and see if anything's wrong there; but I'm pretty sure there ain't.

Couldn't any water or mud get in--not with that oil pan perfect. She

looks dry as a bone, and clean. Try her again, Foster; wait till I set

the spark about right. Now, you leave it there, and give her the gas

kinda gradual, and catch her when she talks. We'll see--"




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