"Gone for good," he nodded. "That'll save you a whole lot of trouble, I guess. I hated to see her go; you had that old carbureter adjusted to a hair."
Rosalind smiled in spite of herself.
"The trouble was in the air-intake," she said as her foot struck sharply against a root, almost upsetting her. "The mixture was too thin."
"I didn't know what it was. Ouch! Caught that branch right in the eye. But it was the new batteries that did the trick most of all."
"And a clean spark-plug," she added as a sudden gust flung her roughly against a tree. "A dirty one is a crime."
"If I get another launch—I'll get a two-cylinder, and— But then I won't be One-Cylinder Sam, will I?"
"Get a four if you can afford it," she advised, pausing for an instant to free her wet skirt from her ankles. "It'll burn a little more gas, but you'll get more speed and less vibration— Heavens!"
The latter exclamation came as she went headlong over a jutting stone.
He picked her up and steadied her on her feet; then, linking his arm in hers, he urged her forward. The storm roared overhead, but they paid no heed to it.
"Where are we going?" she asked after a little.