It was raining soddenly, steadily, as
though it always had rained and always would rain.
Bud turned his face slightly to one side. "How about stopping;
I'll have to feed her some oil--and it wouldn't hurt to fill
the gas tank again. These heavy roads eat up a lot of extra
power. What's her average mileage on a gallon, Foster?"
"How the deuce should I know?" Foster snapped, just coming out
of a doze.
"You ought to know, with your own car--and gas costing what
it does."
"Oh!--ah--what was it you asked?" Foster yawned aloud. "I
musta been asleep."
"I guess you musta been, all right," Bud grunted. "Do you want
breakfast here, or don't you? I've got to stop for gas and oil;
that's what I was asking?"
The two consulted together, and finally told Bud to stop at the
first garage and get his oil and gas. After that he could drive
to a drug store and buy a couple of thermos bottles, and after
that he could go to the nearest restaurant and get the bottles
filled with black coffee, and have lunch put up for six people.
Foster and his friend would remain in the car.
Bud did these things, revising the plan to the extent of eating
his own breakfast at the counter in the restaurant while the
lunch was being prepared in the kitchen.
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