There came a larger puff of smoke from beneath the car’s bonnet, and a flash of flame showed.
“Got an extinguisher?” asked Jerry of the man.
He shook his head, being either too much out of breath or too excited over his narrow escape to talk.
“I’ll get ours!” shouted Ned, as he raced back toward their machine, climbing up the bank, down which the boys had rushed to the rescue.
Jerry and Bob forced up the bent and jammed covers of the engine, and disclosed the fact that the fire, so far, was only in the carburetor, which had become flooded with gasoline when the car turned over.
In a few seconds Ned was back with the extinguisher, and when a generous supply of the chemicals it contained had been squirted on the blazing gasoline, the fire went out with a smudge of smoke.
“That was a narrow escape for me, boys,” said the man, and his voice shook a little. “I thought sure I was done for when I felt the car leaving the road. I tried to bring it back, but the turn was too much for me, and over I went.”
“This is a dangerous turn,” commented Jerry. “There ought to be a warning sign put up here.”
“I didn’t hear you,” the man said. “Boys, I want to thank you!”
He seemed overcome for a moment. Then he went on.
“Mere thanks, of course, do not express what I mean. You saved my life. I don’t believe I could have gotten out of the car alone. My legs were held down, and so was one arm. I’d have burned to death if you hadn’t been here.”
“Well, we’re glad we were here,” Jerry said. “Are you much hurt?”
“Nothing worth speaking about. Some bruises and scratches. I certainly did have a lucky escape. My name is Hobson--Samuel Hobson,” and he drew a card from his pocket, handing it to Jerry. “I was driving a bit too fast, I guess, but I was in a hurry to get the express at Wrightville. I’m on my way West, on important business, and the only way to make connections is to go to Wrightville to get the fast train. So I started in my car, intending to leave it at the garage in Wrightville. I’m afraid I’ll miss the train now.”
“Oh, I guess you’ve got time to make it,” said Jerry, with a look at his watch. “Wrightville is only three miles from here. But I’m afraid you can’t make it in your car.”
“I guess you’ve said it,” admitted Mr. Hobson, after a quick inspection. “I can’t run my car until it’s been in the repair shop. It’ll be hard to get it back on the road, too,” he went on, as he looked at the steep bank down which he had rolled in the machine. “And I _must_ get that train!” he exclaimed anxiously.