It is pretty difficult to exhaust the three billions of cells of
the central nervous system so that all require rest, but ten hours
on an automobile in the open air, speeding along like the wind
most of the time, will come nearer putting all those cells to
sleep than any exercise heretofore discovered. The fatigue is
normal, pervasive, and persuasive, and it is pretty hard to recall
any dream on waking.

It was Sunday morning, September 1, and raining, a soft, drizzly
downpour, that had evidently begun early in the night and kept up
--or rather down--steadily. It was a good morning to remain
indoors and read; but there was that tantalizing machine challenging
combat; then, too, Worcester was but eighteen or twenty miles
away, and at Worcester we expected to find letters and telegrams.

A young and clever electrician across the way came over, bringing
an electric bell, with which we tested the dry cells, finding them
in good condition. We then examined the connections and ran the
trouble back to the coil. There was plenty of current and plenty
of voltage, but only a little blue spark, which could be obtained
equally well with the coil in or out of the circuit, and yet the
coil did not show a short circuit, but before we finished our
tests the spark suddenly appeared.

Again, it would have been better to remain and find the trouble;
but as there was no extra coil to be had in the village, it seemed
fairly prudent to start on and get as far as possible. Possibly
the coil would hold out to Worcester; anyway, the road is a series
of villages, some larger than Brookfield, and a coil might be
found at one of them.