As the judge walked off, leaving Clancy poorer by twenty-five dollars a month because of his promise to Rockwell, Fortune saw a chance and took quick advantage of it.
“Hold your bronks a minute, judge,” he called, hurrying after Pembroke. “I’m big for my size and old for my age, and I reckon I could pull down that seventy-five allee same Clancy. What do you say?”
The judge paused and cast a reflective eye over Jimmie.
“Can you drive a car?” he inquired.
“Me? Gee-wollops! Say, I invented cars. If the diaphragm gets crossways of the razmataz so that the needle valve back fires, I can fix it in ten seconds with my eyes done up in a cloth.”
“Bosh!” interfered Rockwell. “You don’t want a thing to do with that good-for-nothing, judge. I happen to know him. He can’t tell a radiator from a bale of hay.”
“I don’t think you’ll do,” said the judge to Fortune, and walked off down the street.
“You’re a fine uncle for a wanderin’ boy that’s tryin’ to get a foothold!” cried Fortune, turning on the garage owner. “Out with a hammer and knockin’ the rest o’ the fambly as per usual. If I had a disposition like yourn, blamed if I wouldn’t go down where the boats come in, and jump off!”
“You get out o’ here!” shouted Rockwell.
“When I get good and ready. I ain’t in your old chug-wagon corral, but out in front. You don’t own the street, I reckon. If you don’t like my comp’ny, start your feet and change locations. Whoosh! Say, if I was as mean, and back bitin’, and as full o’ low-down schemes as you, I’d be glad to bob up in straight and honest sassiety oncet in a while jest to ketch a breath o’ good air. I’d——”