Ruthie and Winfield grabbed their biscuits and climbed up on the load. They coveted themselves with a blanket and went back to sleep, still holding the cold hard biscuits in their hands. Tom got into the driver’s seat and stepped on the starter. It buzzed a little, and then stopped.
“Goddamn you, Al!” Tom cried. “You let the battery run down.”
Al blustered, “How the hell was I gonna keep her up if I ain’t got gas to run her?”
Tom chuckled suddenly. “Well, I don’ know how, but it’s your fault. You got to crank her.”
“I tell you it ain’t my fault.”
Tom got out and found the crank under the seat. “It’s my fault,” he said.
“Gimme that crank.” Al seized it. “Pull down the spark so she don’t take my arm off.”
“O.K. Twist her tail.”
Al labored at the crank, around and around. The engine caught, spluttered, and roared as Tom choked the car delicately. He raised the spark and reduced the throttle. Ma climbed in beside him. “We woke up ever’body in the camp,” she said.
“They’ll go to sleep again.”