“No, sir, not to speak of. She’s pushing the charge back into the carburetor. We might limp along about ten miles an hour, Mr. Fletcher, but I shouldn’t like to say that we’d not spoil another cylinder.”
“But I’ve got to get back by eleven! Can we get another car round here?”
“There’s a garage at Kingston, sir. Maybe——”
“How far back is it?”
“A matter of three miles, I guess.”
“About two and a half,” Tom corrected.
The passenger looked at his watch and frowned impatiently.
“I suppose it would take half an hour to get it,” he said. “It’s 10.18 now and my train leaves at 11.04. There’s less than an hour, and I’ve got to get that train to Chicago. Look here!” He swung round toward Tom. “Will that thing you’ve got there run?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Tom a little coldly. He did not like to have Puff called a “thing”!