“That’s a good idea!” complimented Nalbro, and she felt not a little proud of her Boston cavalier.
“I think it will be best—if he can get the car to run,” remarked Ruth, a bit dryly.
“Isn’t it like other cars?” Nally wanted to know, somewhat suspicious.
“Not always. Sometimes it takes a notion to start easily, and again Neale will have to ‘monkey with it,’ as he calls it, five or ten minutes before it consents to behave.”
“Oh, I do hope it runs!” murmured the Boston girl.
Alas! It was a vain hope. Hal did everything called for in the book of directions, from retarding the spark, turning on the gas and ignition to stepping on the self-starter button, but all that resulted was a humming of the starting motor. There were no welcome explosions in the cylinders.
“What’s the matter with this boat?” demanded Hal wrathfully, after he had done several things on his own account in trying to get the machine in motion. He had even tried to turn it over by hand.
“I fancy it hasn’t had its bath this morning,” dryly remarked Agnes. “Or perhaps it wants a dusting with violet talcum powder.”
“Never mind,” consoled Ruth. “You aren’t the only one it acts that way with, Hal. Sometimes I’m so provoked at it that I could just cry. Then I go off without it and it must feel ashamed of itself. For the next time I step on the button it goes with a hum and a purr like a contented kitten lapping up cream.”
“We need a new car—that’s what we need!” declared Agnes. “But Guardy is so queer. He——”