was nothing doing. The next stage was to order papa underneath the car, and make him break all the gasoline connections to see if there wasn't a stoppage somewhere in the line. He had to do this in the dark, of course, because it wasn't safe to hold a lighted lamp too close; and it was a most bumpy and depressing performance for a Bothwell at 2.30 a.m. Then he ran wires through the silly tubes, and blew through them, and screwed them back; and there, if you please, was the carburetor stone dry, and not a penny the better for his work. Then mamma, who was shivering with a lap robe around her like an Indian, said she was sure that the tank was empty. And papa said, "By Jove, perhaps it is!" And I said, "What idiots we are never to have looked!"
But it wasn't empty. Papa put his finger in and drew it out, all wet. It was only down about four inches from the top, and there were gallons and gallons. Mamma asked us why we didn't turn the handle some more, and I
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