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Updated: May 23, 2025
"Can't get at this sand unless we go back and try over, and we ditch the car if we try to back up that." The ditch was a huge natural sump-hole, the stagnant surface of which was a-crawl with slime twenty feet beneath. Davies and Wemple sprang to take the boy's place. "You can't do it," he urged.
The car seemed first to stand on one end, then on the other, and to reel drunkenly and to threaten to turn over into the sump-hole when its right front wheel fell into the air where the road had ceased to be. But the hind wheels bit and climbed the grade and out. Without pause, gathering speed down the perilous slope, Wemple came ahead and up, gaining fifty feet of sand over the previous failure.
Well, he had an engineer and that was his business to keep the sump-hole pumped out; perhaps he had shut down for repairs. But the big thing, after all, was to restore Virginia her pets and win his way to a place in her heart. He drove boldly up the street and stopped before the house, but nobody came to the door.
The trenches began collapsing at once; after each heavy storm the unrevetted sides fell in, and liquid mud, reaching as high as the thighs, made movement almost impossible; the sump-hole covers floated away, and in the darkness it sometimes happened that a man would be plunged in water up to his neck.
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