“Must be expecting Sunday traffic,” thought Frank. “That looks a whole lot better than Clan’s bumpy old scrap heap, just the same. Six-cylinder, too, so probably she can go some.”
Approaching the washer, he inquired if the car was for rent. The young fellow hailed the proprietor of the garage, inside, and the latter came out and nodded to Chip at once.
“You’re young Merriwell, ain’t you? I seen that game yesterday, by thunder! Is it you who wants to get a car?”
“I want to go over to Orton and back,” said Merry, “if your car’s for rent.”
“For rent? To you?” A wide grin came over the man’s face. “Say, Merriwell, you couldn’t rent no car off’n me, not if you was to offer me a cold million dollars!”
“Eh!” Merry looked at him in astonishment. “What do you mean?”
“Anybody that lays over Colonel Carson like you did yesterday, son, can have my car when he wants it, see? No, don’t do any hollering. I won’t take no pay, except for gas and the chauffeur. Just expenses. You’ll have to get back by noon, though. I only got the one car, and it’s engaged for the afternoon.”
Finding that the man was absolutely earnest in his refusal to take money, Chip assented.
“We’ll be back as soon as we can reach Orton and turn around,” he said, getting into the car. “And I’m much obliged to you, sir!”
“Pleasure’s all mine, son,” returned the other, with a grand air.