"Say, folks," I calls out, "where's the gas tank on this chariot?"
"Why, it's on the back," says Barry.
"Well, it ain't now," says I. "It's gone."
"Gone!" echoes Ann. "The gas tank? Oh, that can't be possible."
"Take a look," says I.
And sure enough, when they comes around all they can find is the rusted straps that held it in place and the feed pipe twisted off short.
"Ha, ha!" says Barry. "How utterly absurd. I've rattled off a lot of things before, but never the gas tank. And I suppose that's rather important to have."
"Quite," says Ann. "One doesn't go motoring nowadays without one."
"But—but what's to be done?" says Barry. "I simply must get to Birch Crest in time to play the wedding march. The ceremony is to be at 4:30, you know, and here we are——"
"I should say," breaks in Ann, "that we'd better find that tank and see if we can't screw it on or something. It can't be far behind, of course."