The day was passing, and only another hour remained for them to push on. Thad was not at all satisfied with the poor progress they had made.
“We’ll try and do better to-morrow,” he told them as they jogged along, the engine making more noise than ever, it seemed. “If only we can get to a point where there’s no danger of being stopped by commands of raiding Uhlans we can figure on reaching our destination—hello! what’s gone wrong now, I wonder?”
The engine had given a last weak throb and refused to carry on the work any longer. Thad, Allan and Giraffe all jumped out and started to investigate.
“Oh! ginger! what do you think of that?” the last named was heard to exclaim, as though he had made a startling and unexpected discovery.
“What is it, Giraffe?” asked Bumpus, who had not descended from the car, but for all that was deeply interested in everything that went on.
“Tank’s clean empty!” burst from Giraffe.
Thad and Allen stared hard at each other.
“You must be mistaken, Giraffe,” said the former.
“You certainly have made a bad guess,” added Allan, “because we put in five gallons just an hour ago, and couldn’t possibly have used more than a third of that amount by now. Try again, Giraffe!”
“Look for yourself,” said the tall boy, with a shrug of his shoulders that stood for disgust, and perhaps a little indignation as well, that his word should be doubted.