“Oh, yes. Matson, I think I heard Tom Davis speak of you. Well, I’ve had an accident. I was out driving when all at once one side of the shafts fell down. It’s a bad break I’m afraid; bolt sheared off.”
“It’s a wonder your horse didn’t run away.”
“Oh, Prince is pretty steady; aren’t you Prince old fellow?” and Darrell patted the animal’s nose. “But what the mischief am I to do? It’s too far to go to the next town and leave Prince here, and I can’t ride him, for he isn’t used to it and might throw me off.”
“Can I help you?” asked Joe. “I might ride to the nearest place and get a bolt, if you told me what kind.”
“All the places would be closed by this time I guess,” was the rueful answer. “Much obliged to you just the same. I certainly am in a pickle! Next time I go out driving I’ll bring part of a hardware store along.”
“What sort of a bolt is it?” asked Joe.
“Oh, just an ordinary carriage one, flat headed. Bring your light here, if you don’t mind, and I’ll take a look at it. I could only tell it was broken by feeling in the dark.”
In the glow of the bicycle lamp it could be seen that the bolt had broken squarely in two in the middle, and could not be used again. But at the sight of it, as Darrell held the two parts in his hand, Joe uttered an exclamation.
“What’s the matter?” asked the manager of the Silver Stars.
“I think I have the very thing!” said Joe quickly. “I’ve got some spare bolts in my tool bag. They may not be the same size, but they’ll hold the shaft in until you get home I think. I’ll take a look.”