Kid Scanlan. Witwer Harry Charles
rubs the side of his nose with his finger. He looks like he was up against a tough proposition.
"How far have you run this car?" he asks the Kid finally.
"All the way from Frisco," answers the Kid.
"Like this?" he says, pointin' to the motor.
"No!" I cuts in. "It was movin'."
"Why you couldn't have gone three feet with this car!" he busts out suddenly. "I never seen nothin' like this before in my life!"
"Why don't you go out at nights, then?" growls the Kid, gettin' sore. "Stop knockin' and tell us what's the matter with it."
"There ain't nothin' the matter with it," says the other guy with an odd little grin. "Not a thing —only it ain't got no carburetor in it, that's all!"
If he figured on creatin' a sensation on that remark – and from the way he said it, he did – he lost the bet. The Kid just gives him the baby stare and shrugs his shoulders like it's past him.
"No which?" he says.
"Carburetor!" explains the native. "The little cup where your gasoline mixes with the air to start the motor."
The Kid claps his hands together and yells,
"That little crook back in Frisco must have held out on me!"
But I had been doin' some thinkin' and I looks the Kid in the eye,
"What does this carburetor thing look like?" I asks the other guy.
He describes it to me, and when he got all through I gives the Kid another meanin' look and walks over to the ditch. After pawin' around in the mud for a while I found the little cup the Kid had throwed away.
"Is this it?" I asks the native.
"It is," he says. "What was it doin' over there?"
"It must have fell off!" answers the Kid quickly, kickin' at me to keep quiet.
Well, this guy finally fixes us up and about an hour later we hit the little road that leads into Film City, without havin' no further mishaps except the noise from that motor. About half a mile from the gates I seen a familiar lookin' guy standin' in the middle of the road and wavin' his hands at us.
"Slow up!" I says to the Kid. "Here's Genaro!"
The Kid reaches down to the side of his seat and yanks a handle that was stickin' up. It come right off in his hand and we kept right on goin'.
"That's funny!" says the Kid, holdin' up the handle and lookin' at it like it's the first one he ever seen. "We should have stopped right away – that's the emergency brake!"
He stamps on the floor with his foot a couple of times and shuts off the gas. We drift right on, and, if Genaro had had rheumatism, he would have been killed outright. As it was, he jumped aside just in time and the car comes to a stop of its own free will about twenty feet past him down the road.
"What's a mat?" yells Genaro, rushin' up to us. "Why you no stoppa the car when you see me?"
"Why don't they stop prohibition?" I hollers back at him. "We must have lost the stopper off this one, we – "
But he runs around the other side to where the Kid is sitting examinin' all them handles and buttons.
"Sapristi!" he yells at the Kid. "Where you go, Meester Kid Scanlan? Everybody she's a look for you – Meester Potts he'sa want you right away! We starta firsta reel of your picture to-day. Everybody she'sa got to wait for you!"
"Keep your shirt on!" growls the Kid. "You told me this mornin' I had lots of time, didn't you?"
Genaro grabs hold of a tree and does a little dance.
"Aha!" he remarks to the sky. "He'sa make me crazee! What you care what I tole you this a morning? Joosta now I want you queek! You maka mucha talk with me while Meester Potts and everybody she'sa wait for you!"
"Well," says the Kid. "Get in here and we'll go there right away."
Genaro climbs in the back of the car.
"Hurry up!" he says, holdin' his ears. "Anything so she'a stop that terrible noise. Hurry up!"
"I'll do that little thing!" pipes the Kid – and we was off.
I climbed over the seat and in the back with Genaro so's he wouldn't feel lonesome, and, so's if the Kid hit anything, I'd have a little more percentage in my favor. Genaro seems to be sore about something and to make conversation I ask him what's the matter.
"Everything she's the matter!" he tells me, while the Kid keeps his foot on the gas and we bump and clatter along the road. "Everything she's the matter! I work all morning on lasta reel of 'The Escapes of Eva.' Got two hundred extra people stand around do nothing. De Vronde, the bigga bunk, he's a play lead with Miss Vincent." He stops and kisses his hand at a tree we was passing "Ah!" he goes on. "She'sa fina girl! Some time maybe I ask her – pardone, I talka too fast! Lasta reel De Vronde he'sa get what you call lynched. They putta rope around he'sa neck and he's a stand under bigga tree. Joosta as they pulla rope to keel him, Miss Vincent," he throws another kiss at a tree. "Ah! sucha fina girl!" he whispers at me rollin' his eyes. "Sometime I – pardone, everytime I forget! Miss Vincent she'sa come along on horse and sava he'sa life – you see?"
"I got you!" I tells him. "Then what happens?"
"Sapristi!" he says. "That's all! What you want for five reels? But thisa morning, Meester Potts he'sa come up and watch. He'sa president of company and knows much about money, but acting – bah! he'sa know nothing! Gotta three year old boy he'sa know more! He'sa standa there and smile and rub he'sa hands together lika barber while we taka lasta reel. Everything she'sa fine till we come to place where De Vronde he'sa get lynch and Miss Vincent – ah! – she'sa come up on horse and sava him. Then Meester Potts he'sa rush over and stoppa the cameras. 'No!' he'sa yell. 'No, by Heaven, I won't stand for that! That's a rotten! You got to get difference ending froma that!'"
"What was the matter?" I asks him. "Didn't he want De Vronde saved?"
His shoulders does one of them muscle dances.
"Ask me!" he says. "I couldn't tella you! He'sa know nothing about art! Joosta money – that's all. He'sa tella me girl saving leading man from lynch lika that is old as he'sa fren' Methuselah! He'sa want something new for finish that picture – bran' new, he'sa holler or no picture! All morning I worka, worka, worka, he'sa maka faces at everything I do!"
"Well!" I says. "If you – "
I happened to look up just then and I seen the well known gates of Film City about a hundred yards away, and if we was makin' a mile an hour, we was makin' fifty. I leaned over and tapped the Kid on the shoulder.
"Don't you think you had better slow up a trifle?" I asks him.
"I don't think nothin' about it!" he throws over his shoulder. "I know it! I been tryin' to stop this thing for the last fifteen minutes and there's nothin' doin'!"
"Throw her in reverse!" I screams, as them great big iron gates looms up over the front mud guards.
"I can't!" he shouts. "The darned thing's stuck in high and I can't budge it!"
One of them gates was open and the Kid steers for it, while I closed my eyes and give myself over to prayer. We shot through leavin' one lamp, both mudguards and a runnin' board behind.
"Hey!" yells Genaro. "What's a mat? Thisa too fasta for me! Stoppa the car before something she'sa happen!"
"Somethin' she'sa gonna happen right now!" I says. "Be seated!"
The Kid swings around a corner and everybody in Film City is either lookin', runnin' or yellin' after us. I often wondered what a wide berth meant, and I found out that afternoon. That's what everybody in the place give us when we come through there hittin' on six as I. Markowitz would remark. A guy made up like a Indian chief jumped behind a tree and we only missed him by dumb luck.
"Hey!" he yells after us. "Are you fellows crazy? Look out for the Moorish Castle!"
I yelled back that we wouldn't miss nothin' of interest, if we could help it and the