“Then I suppose we must drive on,” he began, when Daisy abruptly interrupted him.
“Could—could—does the lady know how to fix punctures?” she asked, her eyes lighting up with hope.
The woman shook her head regretfully.
“I’m awfully sorry,” she replied, “but my husband has never taught me anything about the car, and I’ve always been content to let him do it all. I’m afraid that I’d know much less than you do yourselves.”
Daisy’s smile faded, but she pulled herself together sufficiently to thank them and to bid them drive on.
“But can’t I just tell you how to work that jack?” asked the man. “Not do it for you, you understand; just give you a pointer?”
“No, thank you just the same,” replied Florence, resolutely, “that wouldn’t be fair. We’re grown-up Girl Scouts, and we have to be trustworthy. So—” she made a violent effort to appear cheerful, “please don’t let us waste any more of your time!”
As the machine drove away the girls turned again to their work, this time with renewed energy; finally after about ten minutes’ sustained effort, they succeeded in raising the car to the desired level. Without waiting to rest even a moment, Florence seized the wrench and began feverishly to turn the bolts. But here again she encountered difficulty, apparently they grew tighter instead of looser.
“I can’t imagine what is the matter,” she said. “It isn’t as if Lily’s car were new and stiff like the other. I’m sure all these tires have been changed before.”
Daisy stood behind her, regarding her thoughtfully.