“The trouble’s plain enough,” he blurted out. “I can locate it from here.”
Instantly the red-headed fellow captured the complete attention of the judge, Rockwell, and Hibbard.
“You must be a wonder!” sneered Hibbard. “I’ve been drivin’ a car for four years, but maybe you know a heap more’n I do. You act like one of these chaps that know it all!”
“Are you a mechanic?” inquired Rockwell.
“Mechanic!” jeered Hibbard. “He’s an expert. Can’t you tell that by lookin’ at him? Regular red-headed fix it. You don’t know what’s wrong, Rocks, and I don’t. Let’s see if he can go ahead and make good.”
Clancy, under this fire of ill-natured talk, kept his temper well in hand. Fortune grew restive, and was plainly eager to give Hibbard as good as he sent, but his “pard” checked him with a look.
“It doesn’t take an expert, nor much of a mechanic, to tell what is wrong with that engine,” said he. “If the rest of the car is in order, I can settle the difficulty in thirty seconds.”
“Wow!” cried Hibbard, with an ugly laugh. “He’s a wizard, a regular motor wizard. He rolls up out of the desert, and——”
“That will do!” cut in the judge sharply. “What is your name, young man?” he asked, turning to Clancy.
Clancy told him. Rockwell, when he heard the name, gave a start and looked at the lad more closely.