The cars now turned up the side road, which was little more than a couple of wheel ruts through the endless yellow pine forest, and began to wind their way southwestward. Even Methuselah didn’t hurry through here. The road was too rough and too winding.
“Say, I expect to meet myself coming back on this road,” Bennie declared. “The feller who laid it out must have had the blind staggers.”
“If it was straightened it wouldn’t be more than half as long,” said the practical Spider.
Presently, coming around a sharp turn, they found Methuselah silent and stalled, with Pep, the hood lifted, poking into the engine.
Everybody climbed out, and went over to him.
“What’s wrong?” they asked.
“I just stopped to tell you about a man who was drawing a load of hay over this road once,” said he. “He never got it out, because the horses ate it all up behind his back from the tail of the wagon.”
“That’s a good story. Now let’s go on,” winked the doctor.
“Wait just a minute,” Pep said. “Methuselah’s foot slipped, and he sprained his carburetor. I think it’s his carburetor. Maybe he pulled a tendon in his ignition.”
“Quick, doctor, the arnica!” called Bennie.