“Oh! we’ll get the hole mended all right,” Allan remarked, confidently; “but it’s always going to be a question how soon another will come along. The tank is worn out, and not worth much.”
“We can only hope it serves our purpose, and after that who cares?” ventured the now philosophical Bumpus.
In the end the leak was repaired, and so far as they could see the tank would do its duty again as a reservoir, providing any petrol was to be had.
By this time the boys were thinking they ought to see something of their messenger. Giraffe would surely have had plenty of time to run across some wayside cottage where they had a horse that could be hired.
“I expect,” Thad explained, to account for the delay, “he’s got his mind set on getting some juice, and so he’s gone on to the next town. Well, if he fetches it with him we’ll get along in a hurry all right.”
Sitting there in the car, which had been dragged to one side of the road, they settled down to wait. The day was done, and with the setting of the sun thoughts of supper naturally came into the mind of Bumpus, because that fierce appetite of his gave him little peace.
“What if he doesn’t show up to-night, Thad?” he remarked, voicing a fear that had latterly been tugging at his heart.
“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” replied the other, looking serious. “We’d be worried about him. Of course we can put up the top of the car. It’s a pretty ragged top at that, but would keep the dew from falling on us. As scouts we’ve camped out in a good many queer places, and ought to stand a little thing like that.”
Bumpus did not much relish the prospect, but being a wise fellow he kept his disappointment to himself. The minutes crept on, and pretty soon darkness had engulfed the stalled car. Still no Giraffe. It looked very strange, for they could not imagine what might have happened to their chum.
Another hour passed.