She never has," Foster answered dubiously.
"Reason I asked, she didn't just choke down from the pull.

She went and died on me." "That's funny," Foster observed weakly.
On the level Bud went into neutral and pressed the self-starter with a pessimistic deliberation.

He got three chugs and a backfire into the carburetor, and after that silence.

He tried it again, coaxing her with the spark and throttle.

The engine gave a snort, hesitated and then, quite suddenly, began to throb with docile regularity that seemed to belie any previous intention of "cutting up." Bud fed her the gas and took a run at the hill.