To their delight they found, however, that, apart from superficial injuries, the car seemed to be intact. The wind shield had been shattered and the mud guards were badly bent. But the axles seemed to be sound, the wheels were in place, and as far as they could judge there had been no injury to the engine. To all appearances the expenditure of a hundred dollars would put the car in good shape again.
But the wheels were so firmly imbedded in the mud of the shore that despite all their efforts they could not budge the car. They strained and pushed and lifted, but to no avail. Joe climbed into the driver’s seat and set the engine going, but the car was stubborn and refused to back.
“Swell chance of our getting home in time for breakfast,” grumbled Joe, as he stopped to rest for a moment.
“Lucky if we get there in time for supper,” muttered Jim. “We’ll have to go somewhere and borrow a shovel so that we can dig the wheels out of the mud.”
But just at this moment they heard the rumbling of a cart, and running to the road they saw it coming, drawn by two stout horses, while the driver sat handling the reins in leisurely fashion.
They waved their hands and the cart came to a halt, the driver scanning curiously the two young men who had appeared so unexpectedly from the side of the road. He was a bluff, jovial person, and his eyes twinkled with amusement as he noted the wet garments that were clinging to their limbs.
“Been taking a bath with all your clothes on?” he asked, as he got down from his seat.
“Something like that,” replied Joe, with a laugh, “but the bath came as a sort of surprise party. The road was blocked, and it was either the morgue or the river for us, so we chose the river.”
“Road blocked?” repeated the newcomer, looking about with a puzzled expression. “I don’t get you. Looks clear enough to me.”
“It wouldn’t if you’d been here half an hour ago,” replied Joe, and then, as the man listened with interest that soon changed to indignation, he recounted briefly the events of the morning.