She went up like a thoroughbred and died at the top, just when the road had dipped into the descent.

Bud sent her down hill on compression, but at the bottom she refused to find her voice again when he turned on the switch and pressed the accelerator.

She simply rolled down to the first incline and stopped there like a balky mule.
"Thunder!" said Bud, and looked around at Foster.

"Do you reckon the old boat is jinxed, just because I said I could drive her as far as she'd go?
The old rip ain't shot a cylinder since we hit the top of the hill." "Maybe the mixture--" "Yeah," Bud interrupted with a secret grin, "I've been wondering about that, and the needle valve, and the feed pipe, and a few other little things.

Well, we'll have a look." Forthwith he climbed out into the drizzle and began a conscientious search for the trouble.