Instantly both men were all apologies; they explained that they knew the road only in dry weather, when it had not been impassible; then, when they had come across another muddy road that morning, they realized what this one could be, and hastened with all speed to the scouts’ rescue, should they be needed.
“But we told you before that we couldn’t accept help from men,” Florence explained.
“I know—but this is different!” protested Cryton. “This is serious.”
“Please let us try to tow you out!” urged McDaniel. “Our engine is a mighty powerful one.”
“No!” replied Marjorie, stubbornly. “Never! I’d rather leave the cars and go back home.” And from the expression on her face, the men knew that she meant what she said.
“But you can’t wait here all day,” objected Cryton.
“No,” answered Marjorie, opening the door of her car. “I am going to the nearest farm house.”
“And I’m going with you!” cried Ethel, always on the alert for action.
The girls picked their way through the sticky mud, often sinking ankle deep into its depths. But their shoes were stout and their stockings of wool, so they did not mind.
Meanwhile the men took their seats in the car, and used every argument they could think of to induce the scouts to change their minds. But they might as well have saved their breath; fifteen minutes later when Marjorie and Ethel returned, they had not made any progress.