"Oh, that's all right. We haven't run sixty miles since I put in eight gallons."
But Carter straightened out a length of copper wire, unscrewed the cap, and sounded the tank. He pulled out the wire and examined it at the lamp. He wiped it carefully and tried a second time.
"Moses!" said the driver, "dry as a bone. Now, who's been playing pranks here? Must have been some of that nasty Welsh crowd that was hanging round whilst we was having lunch."
"Why, there's the union underneath the tank half unscrewed. That would account for the leak, anyway. Here, hold the lamp. Not too close. Yes, and the vibration has cracked the feed pipe. There's a gap I can get my finger nail into. Now, first of all, have you got any spare gasolene?"
"Yes, sir. Two tins."
"Good. Then it's worth while mending this feed pipe. I suppose you haven't a soldering iron?"
"Afraid not, sir. There's rubber solution——"
"Which gasolene melts. Here, let's go through your stock. Ah, here's a tube of seccotine. Now I'll show you a conjuring trick. If we give the crack three coats of that, and let each dry well before the next is put on—Good Lord! Kate!"
Miss O'Neill came up out of the darkness and bowed. "It's really very good of you, Mr. Carter, to trouble over my car."
"I didn't know it was yours. I didn't know you were in this neighborhood. In fact I did not know where you were."