Kid Scanlan. Witwer Harry Charles
a minute!" I butts in. "Before you make this sale, I want to speak to my friend here."
Both him and the Kid glares at me, and the Kid pushes me aside.
"Lay off!" he says. "I know just what you're gonna say. There's no use of you tryin' to discourage me, because I'm gonna buy a car. Here I am makin' all kinds of money and I might as well be a bum! – no automobile or nothin'. I should have had a car long ago; all the big leaguers own their own tourin' cars. There's no class to you any more, if you don't flit from place to place in your own bus!"
"Yeh?" I comes back. "Well, Washington never had no car, but that didn't stop him from gettin' over! I never heard of Columbus gettin' pinched for speedin' and Shakespeare never had no trouble with blowouts. Yet all them birds was looked on as the loud crash in their time. What's the answer to that?"
In butts I. Markowitz, shovin' his hat back on his ears.
"That brings us right down to the present!" he says. "And I could tell you why none of your friends had oitermobiles. Cars was too expensive in them days – a millionaire even would have to talk it over with his wife before they should buy one. But now, almost they give them away! Materials is cheaper, in Europe the war is over and now competition is – is – more! That's why I'm able to let your friend have this factory pet here for eight hundred dollars. A bargain you ask me? A man never heard a bargain like that!"
"Don't worry!" I tells him. "Nobody will ever hear about it from me. If you made him a present of it and throwed in the garage, it would still be expensive!"
"Who's buyin' this car?" snarls the Kid. "You or me?"
"Not guilty!" I says. "If you got to have a car, why don't you buy a new one?"
"This is the same as new!" pipes I. Markowitz.
"Speak when you're spoken to, Stupid!" I says.
"Don't start nothin' here," the Kid tells me, pullin' me away. "I don't want none of them new cars. They're too stiff and I might go out and hit somebody the first crack out of the box. I want one that's been broke in."
"Well," I laughs, "that's what you're gettin', believe me! That there thing has been broke in and out!" I turns to I. Markowitz. "What make is the old boiler?" I asks him.
"Boiler he calls it!" he says, throwin' up his hands and lookin' at the ceilin'. "It's an A. G. F. I suppose even you know what an A number one car that is, don't you?"
"No!" I answers. "But I know what A. G. F. means."
He falls.
"What?" he wants to know.
"Always Gettin' Fixed!" I tells him. "They make all them used cars. I know a guy had two of them and between 'em they made a fortune for three garages and five lawyers! How old is it?"
"Old!" says I. Markowitz, recovering "Who said it was old? Your wife should be as young as that car! It was turned in here last week, only eight short days from the factory. The owner was sudden called he should go out of town and – "
"And he went somewheres and got an automobile to make the trip," I cuts him off, "and left this thing here!"
"Don't mind him!" says the Kid, gettin' impatient. "Gimme a receipt." He digs down for the roll.
While I. Markowitz is countin' the money with lovin' fingers, I went around to one side of the so called auto and looked at the speedometer. One flash at the little trick clock was ample.
"Stop!" I yells, glarin' at him. "How long did you say this car had been out of the factory?"
"Right away he hollers at me!" says I. Markowitz to the Kid. "A week."
"Well," I tells him, "all I got to say is that the bird that had it must have been fleein' the police! He certainly seen a lot of the world, but I can't figure how he slept. He was what you could call a motorin' fool. It says on this speedometer here, 45,687 miles and if that guy did it in a week, I got to hand it to him! I'll bet he's so nutty over speed that he's goin' around now bein' shot out of cannons from place to place, eh?"
I. Markowitz gets kinda balled up and blows his nose twice.
"That must be the – the – motor number!" he stammers.
"Sure!" nods the Kid. "Don't mind him, he's always got the hammer out. Count that change and gimme a receipt."
"Wait!" I says. "Gimme one more chance to save you from givin' yourself the work. Have you heard the motor turn over? Does the clutch slip in all right? Do the brakes work? Has the – "
"Say!" butts in the Kid. "What d'ye think I been doin' – workin' here at nights? Don't mind him," he tells I. Markowitz, who ain't. "Hurry up with that receipt!"
"How is the motor?" I asks that brigand. "Tell me that, will you?"
"Convalescent!" he sneers, tuckin' the Kid's bankroll away.
"Some motor, eh?" pipes the Kid. "And it's got a one-man top on it besides, ain't it?" he asks I. Markowitz.
"Why not?" says he. "Everything new and up to date you would find on this car which only yesterday I could have sold to a feller for a thousand dollars!"
After pullin' that, he walks over to the thing and climbs in the back. "An example!" he says. "If you're alone in the car and there's nobody with you, you only should stand up on the seat and pull up the top like this, if it comes up a rain. Then you – "
I didn't hear the rest on account of him havin' trouble makin' his voice travel from under the seat, because he reached up and pulled somethin' here and jerked somethin' there – and that one-man top made good! I thought at first the ceilin' of the joint had fell in, and I'll bet I. Markowitz knowed it had, but then I seen it was only the thing that keeps the rain out of the car. Me and the Kid drags him out, and as soon as he gets on his feet and felt to see if he had his watch and so forth, he wipes the dirt out of his eyes and turns on me.
"It's a wonder I ain't now dead on account from you?" he snarls. "I suppose you're one of them wise fellers from New Jersey, which they got to be showed everything, heh?"
"Missouri!" I says. "Not New Jersey. If I was from New Jersey, I would probably be fightin' with the Kid to let me buy the car!"
"It's got a self-commencer on it, too!" yelps the Kid, climbin' into the front seat. "See – lookit!" He presses a button with his foot and a laughin' hyena or somethin' in the hood moans a couple of times and then passes away.
"The first time I wouldn't be surprised you should have to crank it," says I. Markowitz. "The motor has been standin' so long – I mean – that is – speakin' of motors, I think that one is maybe a little cold! Once she gets runnin' everything will be A number one!"
I goes around the front of the thing and stoops down.
"Put her on battery, if there's any on there," I calls to the Kid, "and I'll spin the motor!"
I. Markowitz steps over and lays his hand on my arm. His face is as serious as prohibition.
"Its only fair I should tell you," he whispers, "that she kicks a little!"
I give him a ungrateful look and grabs hold of the crank. After turnin' the thing ninety-four times without gettin' nothin' but a blister on my thumb, I quit.
"Nothin' stirrin'," I remarks to I. Markowitz.
"Believe me, that's funny!" he tells me, shakin' his head like he had ball bearin's in his neck.
"Ain't it?" I says. "Are you positive they's a motor inside there?"
He makes a funny little noise in his throat and not knowin' him long, I didn't know what he meant. There's a big husky in overalls walkin' by with plenty of medium oil on his face and a monkey wrench in his hand. I. Markowitz hisses at him, and they exchange jokes in some foreign language for a minute and then the new-comer grabs hold of that crank like the idea was to see if he could upset the car in three twists. He gives it a turn, and I guess the Kid had got to monkeyin' around them little buttons on the steerin' wheel because it went off like a cannon. First, there was a great big bang! And then a cloud of smoke rolls out of the back of the car and the bird that had wound the thing