THE LONG TRAIL.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 17031, 3 May 1923, Page 6

THE LONG TRAIL.

AND SOME ENGINE TROUBLE. (Written for the “Star.”) The car looked a little rough at the edges as it stood in the parking place at Christchurch. Ahead or it on the rank was a- massive machine, its polished enamel coat clean and shining as an aristocrat of the road should be P I stepped into this car. Bill looked at me more in pity than agner. He shook Iris head sadly. “ Not that one ” he said, “ This is our bus.” And he patted the rough vehicle affectionately on the bonnet Then he proceeded to tie a piece of rope on the hood and reave some fencing wire in the engine. 44 You haven’t a hairpin?” he inquired. “There’s a few pieces of the en gine missing and a hairpin is always handy. . . But it doesn’t matter. We’ll get to Temuka or—or bust.” 1 said I would have a half crown on the latter chance. “Now for the road,” he remarked, and cranked her up. Bill drove forty-five miles out of town befoi'e the engine sighed, gibbered and stopped. Bill did a. bit of futile lead side tinkering, got no results, then took off his coat, politely demanded all the tools ancl set to work. I was only too glad to sit on a stump at the roadside and watch. Bill was very thorough. He took out large junks of tho engine, and after inspection, laid them on the road. The steel bowels of his own machine interested Bill. He had never expected to see such things displayed outside the privacy of a. garage workshop. But I didn’t interfere; the thoroughness of Bill (now hoplessly dirty) was very satisfjring. Passing motorists drove straight on; they could see there was a master mechanic on the job. Bill worked on scorning explanation of any kind. The heap of parts on tlie road grew steadily. I sat tight and let him work. Even when he got ali-he could off the engine and removed the back wheel I said nothing. He fnssed with a huge spanner, he wiped the parts with a rag and he squirted oil all over the place. At last he stood up and surveyed tho \v reck age. Then he commenced putting it toge tlier again. He had seven pieces over when he grabbed the crank and gave it a twist. After twenty minutes cranking the engine coughed asthmatically. wheezed and died. More oil more priming, more fiddling round with a piece of wire. But he stuck to his job. Ho cranked and cranked . . . And all of a sudden the thing went off. From then on our going was fairly good. We had the usual puncture and we made the usual stops for liquid—for the radiator. We shed sundry pieces of the car in our mad career, and once we took tlie -wrong turning, and travelled miles before ue discovered our mistake. When, we drove into Temuka, my

friend smiled at me. “ There you are,” he said grandiloqently, as he patted the bonnet and spoke soothingly to the engine. “What did I tell you? We are here all right—and we didn’t BUST.” But it was a near thing. TE PAN A.