Thomas, cursing inwardly, interrupted
himself.
"We must have had a blow-out," he said, bringing the car to a noisy stop.
"Wait a second, while I get out and see."
It was all too true. A large nail had passed straight through one of the
front tires. He stripped off his ulster, and the coat of his dress-suit,
and turned up his immaculate trousers.
"You'll have to get up for a minute, while I get the tools from under the
seat, Sylvia. I'm awfully sorry.--It's pretty dark, isn't it?--I never
changed a tire but once before. Austin's always done that."
"Austin's always done almost everything," snapped Sylvia. Then, peering
around to the back of the car, "Why don't _you do_ something? What _is_
the matter now?"
"The lock on the extra wheel's rusted--you see it hasn't been undone all
winter. I can't get it off."
"Well, _smash_ it, then! We can't stay here all night."
"I haven't got anything to smash it _with_. I must have forgotten to put
part of the tools back when I cleaned the car.
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