“Now that I know you’re John Clancy’s son,” said Rockwell slowly, “I’m inclined to do more than ordinary to make a place for you. That thousand I got from your father on my plain note helped me over a mighty tight pinch, and that’s mainly the reason I’d like to be of some use to you.”
Clancy was surprised and delighted at the expression of these sentiments. From what he had heard regarding Rockwell, he expected to find in the man a cunning, unscrupulous person who would be exceedingly hard to deal with. Yet here Rockwell was showing a grateful disposition which did not tally with the reports of his character which had come to Clancy.
If Clancy could have seen the guileful light in Rockwell’s eyes, it is safe to say he would not have been so pleased. But the goggles hid the garage owner’s eyes, and the youth was left in the dark as to what was passing in the man’s mind.
“I’ll appreciate anything you can do for me,” said Clancy, with feeling.
“Are you willing to do what I tell you to, and to keep your mouth shut?” asked Rockwell.
“I’ll obey orders, of course, and do the best I can. As for talking, I’ll close up like a clam about everything that concerns you and your business.”
It was an honest, straightforward answer, but it failed to make the proper impression on Rockwell somehow.
“The garage business is peculiar,” remarked Rockwell. “To make anything at all, the proprietor of a garage has to pull a lot of wires. Now, Judge Pembroke just wallows in money, and he wants his cars in the best condition always. I’ve been at him for a long time to get that big machine overhauled, but as long as it runs fairly well he seems to be satisfied. That’s the way with car owners,” and a complaining note entered the man’s voice. “I know, a heap better than the judge, what’s best for his car, and if I don’t do some tinkering with it before long he’ll have a bad spill on the road. Can’t make him see that, though. In order to get that machine and put it in A-1 order, I had to resort to tact. Get me?”
“Tact?” echoed Clancy.
“That’s the word. I was doing it all for the judge. I knew those wires were crossed, and so did Hibbard. What I was after was to tow the big car back to Phoenix and put it in apple-pie order. Hibbard and I were working together. Of course, I had to give Hibbard a bonus; but then, all chauffeurs draw down a commission on about everything—they expect it, and if a garage proprietor don’t pony up, they’ll work it so the car finally lands in some other garage. When things like that happen, Clancy, I want you to keep your own counsel. If you do that, maybe I can find a place for you. If you can’t be—er—diplomatic, there isn’t much that I can do for John Clancy’s son. What about it?”