“Has anything gone wrong—seriously wrong?” the girl demanded. “Don’t know yet. Hope not!” He toyed with the engine again, even going to the trouble of producing a bag of tools. Then he lighted a cigarette, inhaled a head full and opined: “This looks like a peach of a fix, Madge. It’s lucky I’m your cousin!” “But I’ve got to get back by eight o’clock, Gordon. You promised that!” “Schools make me sick! A girl as old as you having to get into the house at dark—like a little freckled-faced brat! It’s the limit. You ought to shock ’em good!” “Gordon! Please see if you can’t start the car. We’ve come a long way and an evening star is shining already.” “I can’t help it if something’s gone wrong, can I? I’m no mechanic. I didn’t make the machine! I’d fix it if I could!” “You mean to say you can’t fix it—that there’s no prospect of getting it fixed—so we can get back by eight o’clock?” “Oh, get off your high horse, Madge! Have a heart! What do you think I’m trying to do—get you in Dutch?” Madelaine looked at her watch. It was twenty-five minutes past seven. The most disturbing phase of the predicament was that she had no knowledge of the locality nor where to go for help. Gordon lighted another cigarette and stared at his car ruefully. “There’s only one way out,” he finally declared, “find a house with a telephone and have a garage car come out and tow us.” “That will take an awful long time, won’t it, Gordon?” “Well, and what of it?” “But I’ve got to be back at eight, I told you! How many times must I say it?” “Oh, hang eight o’clock! I didn’t guarantee to get you back regardless of accident! They ought to have sense enough to know that some things might happen that couldn’t be helped.” “Perhaps they would if so many girls didn’t use that accident excuse until it’s thin and threadbare. Besides, I’m not quite convinced, Gordon, that this is an accident. I fail to understand why your car should stop so suddenly away off here in this lonely wood. Everything appeared to be working excellently until we left the highway.” Her lips grew hard. “I think you’d better start hunting that telephone, Gordon. And I’ll go along and call mother in Springfield. It’s plain we’re not going to return by eight o’clock or anywhere near it.” “Well, you wait here till I go around the next turn. I’ll see if I sight a house. If I do, I’ll call you.” But the girl did not miss the dull angry flush on Gordon’s face at reference to Mrs. Theddon.