and thought. Then he put his knife in the commutator, and sampled the buzz on each contact. Then with his hands he traced the gasoline line underneath the wagon.
"Would you mind getting out?" he said to me, as though he had never seen me in his whole life before, and looking wonderfully handsome and distinguished in his white waistcoat. "I'd like to see the tank—if you really don't mind, and if it is not too much trouble."
I didn't mind, and it wasn't too much trouble; and then he lifted off the seat, with the same quiet, resourceful doctor-manner that he had shown all through. He undid the screw-top, and, carrying it well away from the car, examined it carefully by the flicker of papa's lantern.
"Here's your trouble," he said.
"I don't see anything wrong with it," remarked papa, gazing at it as though it might suddenly jump up and bite him.
"No air aperture—that's all," said Mr.
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