“Ginger! some one coming, as sure as anything!” ejaculated Bud, looking inexpressibly relieved.
The plain sound of an approaching car could now be heard. It was also coming from the same direction as their course had just covered, that is, from distant Oakvale.
“I can see him starting to take the hill,” announced Blake, eagerly, “and, say, if it is only a flivver, it tackles the rise as if no ascent had any terrors for it. One man is in the little car, but, then, he may be an angel in disguise. I hope so, I certainly do.”
So the trio of anxious scouts waited for the coming of the lone motorist whose small car was already courageously mounting the elevation.
CHAPTER III
RISING SUSPICIONS
The oncoming car soon reached the spot where Hugh, Bud and Blake were stalled. Hugh threw up his arm as a signal that they would be greatly obliged to the party in the lone machine if he would stop for a brief time to hear their tale of woe, and either assist them, or at least give advice.
The occupant of the little car was a dark-faced man of middle age with what seemed to be a perpetual smile on his face, or was it a leer? Hugh did not like his looks any too well, he confessed to himself. When motorists are in trouble they have no business to find any fault with the looks of a possible Moses who might lead them out of the wilderness. Whether he is handsome or homely, pleasant-looking or a sour-visaged man matters little if only he is accommodating.
“We’re in a mess, it happens, sir,” Hugh commenced saying.
“So I see,” sneered the man, looking suggestively at Bud’s grimy hands, and then toward the stalled ramshackle car.
“Our knowledge of mechanics isn’t all it should be,” continued Hugh, determined not to be daunted by this poor beginning, “and if you could spare five minutes to take a look at the cause of our trouble, perhaps you might tell us how to remedy the same. I’m sure we’d feel under heavy obligations, sir.”