“Well, the riddle is this,” said Shorty. “Why is it that an automobile smokes?”
Many were the answers to this, but at each one Shorty shook his head. Finally he said, “Well, do you give it up?”
“I guess we’ll have to, fellows,” grinned Bert. “Go on and tell us, Shorty; why is it that an automobile smokes?”
“Because it can’t chew,” crowed Shorty triumphantly, and dodged just in time to avoid a piece of greasy waste that Bert threw with unerring aim at his head. Amid cries of “Lynch him!” and “This way out!” and “Don’t let him escape alive, fellows,” Shorty took nimbly to his heels and skipped behind a tree. After the excitement had subsided Bert returned to his grooming of the “Red Scout,” and soon had matters fixed to his entire satisfaction.
It was a hot, sticky afternoon, and the boys had nothing particular to do outside of the routine duties of the camp. They had been lying around on the grass, lazily talking and listening to the drowsy hum of an occasional locust, when one had said:
“Gee, I wish to goodness there was a little wind stirring. I feel as though in about five minutes I would become a mere grease spot on the landscape.”
“Well,” Bert had replied, “if you feel that way about it, why not manufacture a little wind of our own?”
“Manufacture it,” had come a chorus of surprised protest, “how in time can you manufacture wind?”
“Oh, it’s very simple when you know how,” Bert replied, in an offhand manner. “What’s to prevent us from piling into the auto and taking a spin? When we get out on the road I think I can promise you all the breeze you want. What do you say, fellows? Want to try it?”
The answer was an uproarious shout of approval, and accordingly Bert had been getting the machine in shape.