"Is that the thing that makes the spark?"
Carl let off a howl of derision.
"Ach, du lieber, vat a ignorance! Der carpuretter makes der gas, dot makes der exblosions in der cylinter, dot moofs der biston dot makes der bropellor go 'roundt. I know dot meinseluf, efen dough I vasn't so pright like Modor Matt."
"There's a pipe leading from the gasolene-tank to the carburettor," continued Matt, "and there's a valve which should be worked by a lever. Close that valve and you'll shut off the supply of gasolene. When you do that, the motor will stop, and we can work down here to better advantage."
The head disappeared again and the car rocked and swayed as the two men scrambled around in it. Their ignorance, however, increased rather than lessened the difficulty. The misfiring of the one cylinder ceased and the motor took up its humming rhythm at an even faster speed. The fresh impetus of the propeller put a harder pull on the rope, and the strain bore sudden and unexpected results.
With a yell of dismay the driver of the machine leaned over the rail of the car. He had thrown off his hat and his coat was unbuttoned.
"We're making it worse!" he cried. "I wish to thunder you could come up here and——"
Just then the drag-rope, which could not have been properly fastened to the car, let go and dropped earthward in sinuous coils.
The man doubled farther over the rail in a futile and foolish effort to lay hold of it. Something fell from the pocket of his coat, fluttered through the air and landed in the top of a tree.
Matt noted the flight of the fallen object only incidentally, for the major part of his attention was taken up with the actions of the car.