"Do you reckon there'll be someone along?" asked Clint.
"Sure to be sooner or later."
"We'll get 'sooner or later' if we're not back at school in time for supper," murmured Amy. "Guess we'd better hike along, Clint. How far is Wharton from here?"
"About five miles, by road," said the youth. "Maybe less if you cross over there and hit the trolley line. Say, if you get over there you might catch a car. What time is it?"
"Just five-three," answered Clint.
"Oh, well, then there won't be one along for most a half-hour. That'll be your shortest way, though."
"We'll never get back before six," said Clint.
"More likely eight," replied Amy. "Well, it can't be helped. We might as well make the best of it. What are you going to do?"
The driver of the automobile looked up the road and down. "I might go back and look for that nut," he muttered, "or I might go on to Maxwell's, or I might stay here and wait for someone to come along. Guess I'll wait a while."
"Well, we've got to beat it," said Amy. "Sorry about your car. Is there anything we can do if we ever reach Wharton?"