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 a tow in somewhere.""It's your business to see that we aren't stalled," Mert snapped at him viciously. "You've got to make the thing go.
You've got to!"
"Well, I ain't the Almighty," Bud retorted acidly. "I can't perform miracles while yuh wait.""Starting a cranky car doesn't take a miracle," whined Mert.
"Anybody that knows cars--"
"She's no business to be a cranky car," Foster interposed pacifically. "Why, she's practically new!" He stepped over a puddle and stood beside Bud, peering down at the silent engine.
"Have you looked at the intake valve?" he asked pathetically.
"Why, sure. It's all right. Everything's all right, as far as Ican find out." Bud looked Foster straight in the eye--and if his own were a bit anxious, that was to be expected.
"Everything's all right," he added measuredly. "Only, she won't go." He waited, watching Foster's face.
Foster chewed a corner of his lip worriedly. "Well, what do you make of it?" His tone was helpless.
Bud threw out his two hands expressively, and shook his head.
