was just on the point of explaining that there was no good cranking when your carburetor was out of whack, when papa took her at her word, and the miserable old engine started. Yes, and ran beautifully, chump-chumping like an '06.
"I don't know anything about them," said mamma complacently, "but I felt sure Albert would have turned that handle, and that's why I suggested it. Why, I've seen Albert turn it for an hour at a time, till I waited for him to drop dead!"
It did not seem worth while to argue with her while the engine was so evidently on her side, and I didn't even try. Besides, I was too tired and sleepy to care very much. It was running, that was the great thing, and if it chose to defy all the laws of mechanics, why should I make a fuss about it? By this time poor papa was half dead with worry and exhaustion, and it showed how chewed up he was that he asked me to take the wheel.
"I've had all the automobiling I can stand,"
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