She held up her pocket handkerchief. It was thickly smeared with soot. She had certainly cleaned something with it. Geoffrey worked away steadily with his wrench. “And the worst of it is,” said the girl, “that this is just the sort of evening on which one simply must blow one’s nose. I’ve had to blow mine twice since I cleaned the plugs and I expect its awful.” Geoffrey looked up from his work. He had noticed when he first saw her that her face was very dirty. He knew now where the dirt came from. He smiled. The girl smiled, too. Her temper was beginning to improve. Then she sniffed. Geoffrey offered her his pocket handkerchief. She took it without saying thank you. The sparking plugs were cleaned very carefully, for the second time. Then Geoffrey took another turn at the crank handle. He laboured in vain. The engine did not respond with so much as a gasp. “The next thing I did,” said the girl, “was to take out the commutator and clean it. But I don’t advise you to do that unless you really do know something about engines.” It was Geoffrey’s turn to feel a little irritated. “I’m a competent mechanic,” he said shortly. “All right,” said the girl, “don’t be angry. I’m a competent mechanic, too. At least I thought I was before this happened. “Perhaps,” said Geoffrey, “you didn’t put the commutator back right after you took it out. I’ve known people make mistakes about that.” His suspicion was unjust. The commutator was in its place and the wire terminals correctly attached. He took it out again, cleaned it, oiled it, and replaced it. Then he tried the crank handle again. The engine was entirely unaffected. “The feed pipe must be choked,” said Geoffrey decisively. “I didn’t try that,” said the girl, “but you can if you like. I’ll lend you a hairpin. The one I cleaned the plugs with must be lying about somewhere.” It was getting dark, and a search for a lost hairpin would be very little use. Geoffrey said he would try blowing through the feed pipe with the pump. The girl, coming to his assistance, struck matches and held them dangerously near the carburetter while he worked. The clearing of the feed pipe made no difference at all to the engine. It was quite dark and freezing hard when the job was finished. Geoffrey, exhausted and breathless, gave up his final attempt at the starting crank. “Look here,” he said, “I’m awfully sorry; but I’ll have to chuck it. I’ve tried everything I can think of. The only thing to do is to send someone out from the nearest town. If I had a rope, I’d tow you in, but I haven’t. Is there a motor man in Hamley?” “Yes,” said the girl, “there’s a man called Jones, who does motors, but----” “Well,” said Geoffrey, “you get into my car. I’ll drive you home, and then--by the way, where do you live?” “In Hamley. My father’s the doctor there.” “That’s all right. I’ll drive you home and send out Jones.”