Then she added: "We mustn't be; we are dining out this evening--at the
Gordons."
Blount was entirely willing to hurry. Half of one of the precious days
of challenge had been wasted in the futile search for Gryson, and here
was the other half worse than wasted, since the handsome young
lieutenant had so brazenly monopolized Patricia.
"I'll get you home in time for dinner, never fear," he returned, but
apparently the little car was no party to the promise. A short mile from
the reservation the motor began to miss, and a few minutes farther along
it stopped altogether. Blount got out and began to investigate. There
was plenty of gasolene, but the spark appeared to be dead.
"I ought to have a leather medal!" he confided to Patricia, in great
disgust. "Mrs. Blount told me that the batteries needed to be changed,
and I had them changed, but neglected to have them tested. Sit still and
let me spin it on the magneto a while."
She let him do it until the perspiration was standing in fine little
beads on his forehead and he was hot and desperate. Then she said
sweetly: "I don't believe I'd wear myself out that way, if I were you,
Evan. Something happened to the magneto two or three weeks ago, and it
has never been fixed."
Blount pushed his driving-cap back, mopped his face, and came around to
dive once more into the wiring in the battery box.
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