He listened as the liquid fuel flowed away and trickled over the spare tire-rack, and his beating heart seemed to keep time with it.
Ah, you Hunkajunk touring model with all your thousand delights, you cannot get along without this trickling liquid any better than your lowly brother, the humble Ford.

Would _all_ of it flow away before that terrible man came back?
Now Peter heard voices in front of the car; the man had returned, and was speaking to his confederate, his pal.
"I won't get out of the car and I won't desert it," he heard the small stranger announce sturdily.
"Didn't you say you were with me ?" "I did, but I--" "Then shut up.

The road's all right; there's nothing the matter with it; this is some kind of a frame-up.

Did you come along this way when you copped it before; I mean you and that pair ?" "I don't know, I was under the buffalo robe." They were thieves all right; Peter knew it now.

And his assurance on this point gave him courage.