As the small squad swung around the turn in the road they were delighted to see that Sergeant Mullins was in charge. He brought the boys to a sharp halt at sight of them, and came forward to meet them, saluting gravely.
"Are you in trouble?" he asked, with his quiet smile and a glance at the stalled machine. "May I help?"
"Oh, would you?" cried Betty, her pretty forehead puckered. "We do want to get back before the storm breaks."
Without a word, the young fellow removed his jacket and examined the machine carefully. Then, with equal gravity, he wormed his way under the car.
In what seemed to the girls no more than a minute, he reappeared and smiled at them.
"I guess it's all right now," he assured them with another punctilious salute. "If I might suggest that there's no time to be lost—" with a significant glance toward the lowering sky. For answer, Mollie threw in the clutch and the machine purred evenly. Then, with a little impulsive gesture, she turned to the sergeant.
"It's—it's a long way to Camp Liberty," she said, with pretty hesitation. "Won't you let us show you how grateful we are by letting us take you there?"
"Please do," urged Betty.
He considered a moment, then with another of his grave smiles saluted once more and turned to the boys who stood waiting in the road.
"Pile in, fellows!" he said. "We'll just about make it before the storm."