So he chewed. We all chewed. And with the three fresh gobs Ann did a first aid plumbin' job that didn't look so worse. She got the funnel so it would stick on the pipe.
"But it must be held there," she announces. "I'll tell you, Barry; you will have to hang out over the back and keep the funnel in place with one hand and pour in the gas with the other, while I drive."
"Oh, I say!" says Barry. "I'd look nice, wouldn't I?"
"Torchy will hold you by the legs to keep you from falling off," she goes on. "Come, unbutton the back curtain and roll it up. There! Now out you go. And don't spill a drop, mind."
It sure was an ingenious way of feedin' gas to an engine, and I had my doubts about whether it would work or not. But it does. First thing I knew we'd started off with a roar and were tearin' up the hill on second. We made the top, too.
"Now hold tight and save the gas," sings out Ann. "I'm going to coast down this one full tilt."
Which she does. Barry bounces around a lot on his elbows and stomach, but I had a firm grip on his legs and we didn't lose him off.
"More gas now!" calls Ann as we hits the bottom.
"Ouch! My tummy!" groans Barry.
"Never mind," says Ann. "Only three miles more."