"If anybody else thinks he can twist her tail any better than that," he announced, "let him step up and try. I'm through; postilutely through."
By this time, even Specs was ready to admit that the motor was "busted." "It's the ignition," he explained. "As soon as we find out why she doesn't get a spark, we can fix her in a jiffy."
But discovering the nub of the trouble proved no easy job. The spark plugs were taken out; all connections were examined; each wire was traced to coil and magneto; the magneto itself came in for critical inspection. But no break or short circuit revealed itself. Already, the first glowing enthusiasm of the boys was blowing cold and dead.
Bonfire snapped the switch backward and forward. "Feels loose," he said. "Let me have that screwdriver, Specs." With deft hands, he removed the face of the switch-box. "Here's the little nigger in the woodpile, fellows!" he called exultingly. "See, those loose nuts allow the contact plate to drop down. The circuit is not completed even when you throw on the switch. No wonder she won't run!" He twirled the nuts with his fingers and clamped them tight with a wrench. "Now try her."
"Not me!" jeered Bi. "I've cranked her from here to Belden already. Let somebody else crank her home again." But even while he talked, he was walking toward the front of the car. Roundy reached for the swinging handle, only to be pushed aside by Bi. With scarcely an effort, the strongest Scout in the patrol turned her over again—and the motor sprang into life with a roar.
"Throttle her down!" Bi shouted to Specs. "Wake up there! Don't let her race! If ever you win a merit badge for automobiling, I'll eat it for breakfast. Isn't he rotten, Mr. Jenkins?"
The farmer smiled. "Oh, he'll pass, I reckon. Now, let me see. Five of you on the back seat, two on the collapsible chairs—that's seven—and two of you on the front seat here with me. Wait just a minute till I get my coat and tell my wife I'm going, and we'll start."
"With any kind of luck at all," Bunny promised happily, looking at his watch, "we should be at the Belden ball park a little after one o'clock. It's 11:42 right now, and we have about thirty-seven miles to cover."
Specs held up his hand. "I've got my fingers crossed," he said. "Don't forget all the things that have happened to us so far to-day. Touch wood when you say that, Bunny."
But luck seemed at last to be roosting with the Black Eagle Patrol. Once out upon the main highway, the motor settled down to a contented purr, with never a miss or hint of trouble, and the big car rolled placidly toward Belden, piling the miles behind it quite as if it were shod with seven-league boots instead of rubber tires. Mr. Jenkins admitted that he was "no great shucks at driving", but he more than made up for any lack of technical skill by his careful and common-sense handling of wheel and accelerator. An hour before, Belden had seemed to the Scouts some far spot on the rim of the world; now, as everybody felt, it lay just over the hill.