"Say!" he cried, "what do you know about this!"
"About what?" asked Tod lazily, a dozen feet away on the way to his father.
"This," answered Jerry, giving the big cap a twirl with his forefinger.
"Some careful of your gasoline you people are!" The cap was loose.
"Something funny about that," declared Tod, coming back. "I saw
Billings screw that on last time myself—with the wrench."
There was something decidedly funny about it, as it turned out. At Tod's alarmed call Mr. Fulton came on the run. "It's been tampered with," was his immediate decision. "Screw on the pump, boys, and force up a gallon or so, If there isn't water in that gas we're the luckiest folks alive. I might have known those crooks had a final shot in their locker!"
"What's the idea?" asked Mr. Harris, with the first interest he had showed.
"Somebody's trying to block the game, that's what!" sputtered Mr.
Fulton. "Here, boys, take the canfull in and put it in the shop engine.
If she can take it I guess we're worrying for nothing."
For a moment or so it looked as if that were the case; the engine chugged away in its usual steady manner. But once the gasoline was gone that the boys had been unable to empty out of its tank, it began to kick a little. Within another minute it had stopped dead.
"Show's over," announced Mr. Fulton grimly. "It's way after three o'clock now, and we can't hope to get a new supply from town this side of dark. If we just hadn't sent your auto back!"
"You mean to tell us that you cannot go up—that there will be no flight!" cried Mr. Lewis, making up for all his previous lack of excitement in one burst of protest. "But, man—it's the last day of the option."