"He will be coming in sight any minute now," Betty explained hurriedly, "so we must decide on some definite plan of action."
"That's easy," said Mollie. "One of us will get down underneath the machine and pretend to be tinkering—"
"Goodness, that lets me out," said Grace in dismay. "I wouldn't get down in the dirt for fifty idiotic wagon drivers."
"Well, nobody's asking you to," cried Mollie impatiently. "I fully intend to put on my overalls and do it myself."
"Better hurry up," cried Amy, who had been glancing uneasily down the road. "He may come along any minute now and we don't want him to catch us here."
So amid much hilarity and giggling Mollie got into the begrimed overalls and proceeded to wriggle her small self beneath the car.
"I hope he hurries," she cried in a muffled voice. "It isn't exactly what you might call comfortable down here. Betty, get off my foot," as Grace wickedly stepped on her toes.
"Just hear her," cried Betty plaintively. "Everything just naturally gets blamed on me."
"Well, if you didn't, who did?" queried Mollie fiercely. "Tell me her name—"
"Betty, Betty, don't give me away," pleaded Grace, at which the girls laughed while a satisfied chuckle came from under the car.