Just then the runabout blew up a forward tire. The machine tried to turn a somersault, and its passenger went over on the hood and tried to knock off one of the gas lamps with his head. When Matt brought the touring car to the side of the runabout, and halted, the man was on his feet, shaking his fist at the silent white tormentor. “If I had a stick of dynamite,” he declared wrathfully, “I’d blow this infernal machine to kingdom come! I’ve been fiddling around the Jericho Road for two mortal hours, and I could have made better time if I’d left the car and gone on afoot. But I’ll hang to it, and make it take me where I’m going. By George, I’ll not be beaten by a senseless contraption of tires, mud guards, and machinery.” Matt had jumped out of the touring car and was sniffing at the damaged tire. “What makes that smell of gasoline?” he asked. “I put in a tube this morning, and washed out the chalk with gasoline,” said the man. “Never use gasoline for cleaning the tubes,” counseled Matt. “Get all the chalk you can from the outer tube, and then soak it in wood naphtha or ordinary alcohol. No wonder your tire blew up. You left gasoline in the shoe, and when it got hot, it mixed with a little air in the tube and something had to happen. Have you got another shoe?” “Yes.” “And a jack?” “Of course. When a man goes out with a car like this he ought to carry a small garage around with him.” “Well, we’ll help you get on the shoe.” Matt and Billy worked. McGlory stood near, watching and talking with the owner of the car. After the tire had been repaired, Matt looked over the runabout critically. Much to his amazement, he could find nothing wrong. “It’s the double hoodoo,” whispered Billy; “that’s all that’s the trouble.” “Much obliged to you,” said the man, cranking up. “Now we’ll see how she acts.” He got in, went through the operations for a fresh start, but the runabout began backing. While the man shouted, and said things, the runabout backed in a circle around the big touring car, then dropped rearward down a shallow embankment at the roadside--and its passenger had another spill, out over the rear deck this time. For a second, he stood on his head and shoulders, then turned clear over and made a quick move sideways in getting to his feet. He was afraid, evidently, that the runabout was coming on top of him. But the car, almost in defiance of the laws of gravitation, hung to the side of the steep bank, its position nearly perpendicular. “Speak to me about that!” gasped McGlory. Matt was scared. From the top of the bank he stood staring while the man got out of the way. “Are you all right?” Matt asked. “No thanks to that fiendish machine if I am,” sputtered the man, laboring frantically up the slope. “It has tried to kill me in a dozen different ways since I left home with it. I’m done. Life’s too short to bother with such an infernal car as that.” Fairly boiling with rage, he started along the road on foot.