“Or may be one of the differentials,” added Harry, eager to be of help to his father.
“Well, I am pretty sure it is a judgment on us,” responded Mrs. Treat. “I think we had better turn back and get old Browny and the surrey. We’ll be sure to get there some time then. Now I don’t know that we ever shall.”
“What did I do?” questioned Mr. Treat as the engine began to respond to his vigorous cranking. “I’ve cranked and cranked and cranked, and why it should begin now and not ten minutes ago is beyond my comprehension.”
If the driver had been of an inquiring turn of mind and had conducted his investigations a little further, he might have located the real cause of all his difficulties.
In the course of the last half hour, Billy Whiskers had been feasting himself upon the pies and cakes and other delicacies stored in the hamper.
“My, what would Browny think if he could see me now!” he thought. And it was his roar of delight that resulted in the first consternation of the inexperienced chauffeur.
“Deary me!” thought the goat when the auto brought up with a violent jerk. “I wish Mr. Treat would be more careful. I’ll surely be caught now, and he will be the death of me if he finds me in here,” and a nervous shiver or two ran down his spine. But when all quieted down and the machine was making good time over the country roads, Billy resumed his repast, only to be interrupted once or twice by his chuckles of bubbling good nature.
At last, even his appetite being fully satisfied, he began to lay further plans for his outing.
“In the first place,” he mused, “how am I ever to get out of this box? My legs are cramped, and I ache in every bone from remaining so long in such an awkward position. I’ll stretch a bit and see where we are, at the same time,” and he cautiously raised the hamper lid with his head.
