is 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--"

They saw that she was not going to "talk" at all. Bud swore a little and
got out more tools and went after the magneto with grim determination.
Again Foster climbed out and stood in the drizzle and watched him. Mert
crawled over into the front seat where he could view the proceedings
through the windshield. Bud glanced up and saw him there, and grinned
maliciously. "Your friend seems to love wet weather same as a cat does,"
he observed to Foster. "He'll be terrible happy if you're stalled here
till you get