"I'd have done in their car if you'd held 'em a moment longer," she panted indignantly. "Didn't have time to slash their tyres but I did manage to get about half a pint of water in the petrol tank before they slung me into the hedge."
And very valuable was the help thus afforded for within a mile the Ford had banged and snuffled itself to a standstill and twenty minutes were lost draining the tank and blotting up the rust coloured drops from the bottom of the float chamber. Both Dirk and Bolt were in favour of returning to the house in order to conduct a punitive campaign, but Harrison Smith would not hear of this.
"We must push the damn car all we know how," he said, Working feverishly at the union of the induction pipe with a spanner that didn't fit. "If we haven't caught up with them by eight o'clock I shall drop Bolt at a post office and he must get through to the Chief."
"What, the Dutchman?"
"No choice. It's infernal luck, but better that than let him get through with the thing."
"If you ask me, Smith," said Bolt critically. "If you ask my opinion
I'd say you've made a bloomer of this show."
"You can keep your opinion till I do ask for it," came the retort.
"Get in. She's clear now."
He took a heave on the starting handle and jumped to his place at the wheel.
"Keep your eye on those tyre marks, Dirk. If you lose 'em I'll break your head."
And from the spirit of this remark it will be seen that kindliness and fellowship had gone by the board.