“Right,” reminded Willard. Tom nodded and the car swung around the corner on two wheels and raced at a hill.
“About nineteen more, I guess,” said Tom, as they topped the summit and dropped down the other side. “What are those lights ahead?”
“Maybe a wagon. Better go easy.”
“There isn’t time,” answered Tom, peering ahead. The lights came flashing up to them, there was a jolt, and The Ark swept past a crossing-tender’s shanty and over the railroad tracks.
“Gee, it’s lucky there wasn’t a train coming!” exclaimed Willard thankfully.
“We’d seen the head-light,” Tom answered. “This road’s getting better, isn’t it? Either that or I’m getting used to being shaken up. How much gas do you think we had when we left?”
“About six or seven gallons. The tank was two-thirds full.”
“We won’t use more than four, I suppose. How about oil?”
“I didn’t look. The crank-case was filled Wednesday, though.”