“He laughs best who laughs last.”
“It was that man,” said Billie, examining the tires ruefully, each one of which had been slashed with a sharp knife.
CHAPTER XII.—THE STORM.
“Billie, can you put on new tires?” demanded Ben, somewhat anxiously, making a mental determination to learn all about the mechanism of motor cars before he went on another motor trip.
The others stood back rather helplessly. Merry, especially, felt stupid and uncomfortable in having to stand aside and let a girl do all the work.
“Of course, I can,” replied Billie, trying to speak cheerfully, as a low cannonading of thunder rumbled in the distance. “I have done it dozens of times, only it will take time, of course. The tools are under the seat. Hustle up, everybody. Charlie, you get the new tires. Ben, you help me.”
In a few moments Ben and Billie were kneeling on the ground adjusting the tire of the first wheel, while Charlie and Merry were engaged in examining the extra tires, which the motor carried in case of accident, and Percy made himself as useful as possible, unpacking all the wraps, Billie’s oilskin coat and cap and the rubber blankets.
“Billie,” announced Charlie, “there are only three good tires here. The fourth has a puncture. It’s only a small one, but——”
“I know,” interrupted Billie, looking extremely worried. “It was an imperfect one. I may be able to patch it.”
Then Charlie and Merry held a whispered conference and disappeared around the bluff.