itated a bunch of cannon crackers on the
following rise.

Owen was a good motorcycle rider, but a very poor mechanic. His
machine had been adjusted, cleaned and kept in repair by the Marvin
chauffeur, and the secretary had seldom, cause to investigate it on the
road. He had always used the carefully filtered gasoline from the
garage, so that he neither understood the present alarming symptoms nor
knew their simple cure. His motor was protesting at a drop of water
which had entered the needle valve of his carburetor and, being heavier
than gasoline, had lodged there and stopped its flow. It would have
been an easy, matter to drain the carburetor, but instead Owen with
nervous fingers adjusted everything he could get his hands on, and
after two hours' work trundled it into a farmhouse and hired the farmer
to drive him the short remaining distance to the aviation field.

Several machines were in the air, but not the Frenchman's, when the
farmer drove up. The roads and the edges of the field were alive with
cars and spectators as the secretary hastened to the "hangars." The
French aviator welcomed Owen and inquired for the mademoiselle. This
confirmed Owen's fears that something had happened to her on the way.
It had troubled him a little that the runabout had not passed him on
the road, but Harry might have made a detour to avoid some section of
bad road.

Owen lost another hour in watching and worrying before he made up his
mind to go to the rescue. There were plenty of idle cars, but it was
not easy to hire one, as they were mostly guarded by chauffeurs with no
right to rent or lend them. At last a man was found who was willing to
pick up $10 and take a chance that his master would not know about it.

The rescue car found them just where they had stopped, half way up the
hill. Pauline had run the scale of feminine annoyance, from silence to
sarcasm, to tears. The tears produced almost the same effect on
Harry's determination to keep Pauline from flying that the drops of
water had in Owen's carburetor. The spectacle of the girl he loved
weeping had almost broken up his resolve when Owen dashed by, shouted,
turned around and drew up alongside.

Harry asked for help, and the chauffeur who had never had the pleasure
of tinkering with a "Marvin Six," was inclined to dismount and aid at
least in diagnosing the car's ailment. While he was thinking about it
and surveying the parts which Harry had taken out and s