The machine stopped when opposite the stalled automobile, and the driver, leaning out from under his canopy, enquired kindly:
“Can I give you a tow?”
“Thanks, I’m afraid not,” answered Jerry. “One axle is bent, and we’ll have to tie up here. If you had a board floor for our auxiliary tent I’d buy that of you.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t got such a thing on board,” was the laughing answer. “But how would a bale of hay do? I’ll sell you one if you like, and you can scatter that on the damp ground the way they do straw at a circus when it rains.”
“Fine!” cried Jerry. “What is your craft, anyhow, a traveling farm?”
“No, but I happen to have a load of feed and grain on, and there is an extra bale of hay. I’ll tumble it off for you.”
He did so after naming the price, and when the wires had been cut Jerry, with the professor’s help, spread out on the damp ground several layers of the dry hay. It was almost as good as a board floor.
“That’s great!” Jerry said as he paid the man. “If you happen to see two fellows splashing along through the mud, looking for a garage,” he added, describing Ned and Bob, “you might give them a lift.”
“I will,” agreed the driver. “I’ll take them to the nearest repair shop, too.”
He was as good as his word, and about an hour later Jerry heard the chugging of an automobile. In it, returning with the garage men, were the two scouts who told of having been picked up on the road and taken into town.