The second Good Samaritan knew that one of the wires in the distributor must be detached and, though she assured him that she had inspected them, he looked pityingly at her smart sports-suit, said, "Well, I'll just take a look," and removed the distributor cover. He also scratched his head, felt of the fuses under the cowl, scratched his cheek, poked a finger at the carburetor, rubbed his ear, said, "Well, uh----" looked to see if there was water and gas, sighed, "Can't just seem to find out what's the trouble," shot at his own car, and escaped. Claire had been highly grateful and laudatory to both of them--but she remained here, ten miles from nowhere. It was a beautiful place. Down a hill the wheat swam toward a village whose elevator was a glistening tower. Mud-hens gabbled in a slew, alfalfa shone with unearthly green, and bees went junketing toward a field of red clover. But she had the motorist's fever to go on. The road behind and in front was very long, very white--and very empty. Her father, out of much thought and a solid ignorance about all of motoring beyond the hiring of chauffeurs and the payment of bills, suggested, "Uh, dolly, have you looked to see if these, uh---- Is the carburetor all right?" "Yes, dear; I've looked at it three times, so far," she said, just a little too smoothly. On the hill five miles to eastward, a line of dust, then a small car. As it approached, the driver must have sighted her and increased speed. He came up at thirty-five miles an hour. "Now we'll get something done! Look! It's a bug--a flivver or a Teal or something. I believe it's the young man that got us out of the mud." Milt Daggett stopped, casually greeted them: "Why, hello, Miss Boltwood. Thought you'd be way ahead of me some place!" "Mrwr," said Vere de Vere. What this meant the historian does not know. "No; I've been taking it easy. Mr., Uh--I can't quite remember your name----" "Milt Daggett." "There's something mysterious the matter with my car. The engine will start, after it's left alone a while, but then it stalls. Do you suppose you could tell what it is?" "I don't know. I'll see if I can find out." "Then you probably will. The other two men knew everything. One of them was the inventor of wheels, and the other discovered skidding. So of course they couldn't help me." Milt added nothing to her frivolity, but his smile was friendly. He lifted the round rubber cap of the distributor. Then Claire's faith tumbled in the dust. Twice had the wires been tested. Milt tested them again. She was too tired of botching to tell him he was wasting time. "Got an oil can?" he hesitated. Through a tiny hole in the plate of the distributor he dripped two drops of oil--only two drops. "I guess maybe that's what it needed. You might try her now, and see how she runs," he said mildly.