He let down the hood, climbed in, slid into the driver's seat, and went through the operation of starting. Only, he didn't start. The self-starter hummed as it spun the flywheel, but nothing whatever was elicited save a profane phrase from Foster and a growl from Mert. Bud sat back flaccid, his whole body owning defeat.
"Well, that means a tow in to the nearest shop," he stated, after a minute of dismal silence. "She's dead as a doornail."Mert sat back in his corner of the seat, muttering into his collar. Foster looked at him, looked at Bud, looked at the car and at the surrounding hills. He seemed terribly depressed and at the same time determined to make the best of things. Bud could almost pity him--almost.
"Do you know how far it is back to that town we passed?" he asked Bud spiritlessly after a while. Bud looked at the speedometer, made a mental calculation and told him it was fifteen miles. Towns, it seemed, were rather far apart in this section of the country.
"Well, let's see the road map. How far is it to the next one?""Search me. They didn't have any road maps back there. Darned hick burg."Foster studied awhile. "Well, let's see if we can push her off the middle of the road--and then I guess we'll have to let you walk back and get help. Eh, Mert? There's nothing else we can do--""What yuh going to tell 'em?" Mert demanded suspiciously.
Bud permitted a surprised glance to slant back at Mert. "Why, whatever you fellows fake up for me to tell," he said naively. "Iknow the truth ain't popular on this trip, so get together and dope out something. And hand me over my suit case, will yuh? Iwant some dry socks to put on when I get there."Foster very obligingly tilted the suit case over into the front seat. After that he and Mert, as by a common thought impelled, climbed out and went over to a bushy live oak to confer in privacy. Mert carried the leather bag with him.
By the time they had finished and were coming back, Bud had gone through his belongings and had taken out a few letters that might prove awkward if found there later, two pairs of socks and his razor and toothbrush. He was folding the socks to stow away in his pocket when they got in.
"You can say that we're from Los Angeles, and on our way home,"Foster told him curtly. It was evident to Bud that the two had not quite agreed upon some subject they had discussed. "That's all right. I'm Foster, and he's named Brown--if any one gets too curious""Fine. Fine because it's so simple. I'll eat another sandwich, if you don't mind, before I go. I'll tell a heartless world that fifteen miles is some little stroll--for a guy that hates walkin'.""You're paid for it," Mert growled at him rudely.
"Sure, I'm paid for it," Bud assented placidly, taking a bite.
They might have wondered at his calm, but they did not. He ate what he wanted, took a long drink of the coffee, and started off up the hill they had rolled down an hour or more past.
He walked briskly, and when he was well out of earshot Bud began to whistle. Now and then he stopped to chuckle, and sometimes he frowned at an uncomfortable thought. But on the whole he was very well pleased with his present circumstances.
