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.