“Puts your little bus on its metal, sure enough, Darry,” Burd remarked. “It will have to pull some to get this big jumbo free.”
“Huh!” cried Aunt Emma, hopping nimbly into the big car and seizing the wheel with determination, “this big jumbo, as you call it, has a mighty fine engine. I reckon the strain won’t come altogether on Darry’s roadster.”
But the undertaking, simple as it had seemed in the beginning, assumed gigantic proportions as the work progressed. The big car, in reverse, snorted and roared and puffed—and that was all. The wheels could get no purchase in the slimy mud. They slid and skidded and accomplished nothing.
The little roadster, doing its gallant best, was at a disadvantage also, for the ground was wet and slippery, being sodden because of a recent storm. Also, the shore sloped sharply down to the edge of the stream, so that the roadster was trying to carry its heavy load up grade.
The girls and boys put their shoulders to the car and pushed with all their might, but still it would not budge.
“Well, I guess we are doomed to spend the rest of our natural lives in this spot,” said Amy, at last, stopping to wipe the perspiration from her brow. “In the last ten minutes we have not moved the fraction of an inch. Startling speed.”
“I have an idea,” cried Jessie, suddenly, as the rest stopped for a moment’s breathing spell. “Why can’t we get that big log over there and put it in front of the wheels of the roadster. That would keep the car from slipping backward, anyway.”
“Might try it,” agreed Burd, grudgingly. “But I don’t suppose it will do much good. What we need is a team of good farm horses,” he added ruefully.
However, Jessie’s idea of the log did work surprisingly well. It not only prevented the roadster from slipping, but gave it something to push against when starting in reverse.
“Now, all together!” cried Jessie, as she once more leaned all her weight against the car. “It will have to come this time. One, two, three—go!”