Tut, tut!
Wonder I didn't call you 'Pines' or 'Bushes' or somethin'. . . .
But there, sit down, sit down. I'm awful glad you dropped in. I'd
about given up hopin' you would."
He brought forward a chair, unceremoniously dumping two stacks of
carefully sorted and counted vanes and sailors from its seat to the
floor prior to doing so. Major Grover declined to sit.
"I should like to, but I mustn't," he said. "And I shouldn't claim
credit for deliberately making you a social call. I came--that is,
I was sent here on a matter of--er--well, first aid to the injured.
I came to see if you would lend me a crank."
Jed looked at him. "A--a what?" he asked.
"A crank, a crank for my car. I motored over from the camp and
stopped at the telegraph office. When I came out my car refused to
go; the self-starter appears to have gone on a strike. I had left
my crank at the camp and my only hope seemed to be to buy or borrow
one somewhere. I asked the two or three fellows standing about the
telegraph office where I might be likely to find one. No one
seemed to know, but just then the old grouch--excuse me, person who
keeps the hardware store came along."
"Eh? Phin Babbitt? Little man with the stub of a paint brush
growin' on his chin?"
"Yes, that's the one. I asked him where I should be likely to find
a crank.
Pages:
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260