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 I can 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. He let
down the hood, climbed in, slid into the driver's seat, and went through
the operation of starting. Only, he didn't start. The self-starter
hummed as it spun the flywheel, but nothing whatever was elicited save a
profane phrase from Foster and a growl from Mert. Bud sat back flaccid,
his whole body owning defeat.
"Well, that means a tow in to the nearest shop," he stated, after a
minute of dismal silence. "She's dead as a doornail."
Mert sat back in his corner of the seat, muttering into his collar.
Foster looked at him, looked at Bud, looked at the car and at the
surrounding hills. He seemed terribly depressed and at the same
time determined to make the best of things. Bud could almost pity
him--almost.
"Do you know how far it is back to that town we passed?" he asked Bud
spiritlessly after a while. Bud looked at the speedometer, made a mental
calculation and told him it was fifteen miles. Towns, it seemed, were
rather far apart in this section of the country.
"Well, let's see the road map. How far is it to the next one?"
"Search me. They didn't have any road maps back there. Darned hick
burg."