There were a few half-suppressed screams, many alarmed inquiries, and any numbers of “Ohs!”
“What is it, Jake?” asked Dorothy again.
“Tire’s gone back on me,” replied the driver with characteristic brevity. “I was afraid it would play out, and I wanted to stop and put on a new one, but Mrs. Pangborn told me to hurry, and I did. Now I’ve got to go slow. Hum! No fun, either, putting on one of these tires.”
“More haste the less speed,” commented Tavia. “Pile out, girls, and we’ll walk in the woods while Jake puts a new rubber shoe on this duck of an auto. It can’t go out without rubbers you know, or it might catch cold in its gasolene tank!”
“What talk!” cried Molly Richards, with pretended horror to Dorothy.
“Yes, I’m afraid she’ll never get over it,” agreed our heroine. “Still, it’s like most of what Tavia does—harmless, for she really has a kind heart.”
“Which is more than a coronet or even a violin,” commented Molly with a laugh. “But she is getting out.”
“Come on!” cried Tavia again. “No use sitting still and waiting for Jake. Besides, we’ll make the machine lighter if we get out; won’t we Jake?”
“Oh, well, I’ve got to jack the wheel up anyhow,” spoke the driver, “and one or more young ladies like you, Miss Travers, won’t make much difference. Stay in if you like.”
“Thank you! Glad to know I’m light!” cried the irrepressible Tavia. “Hope it wasn’t my head you referred to.”