Mark didn’t say anything, but his little eyes were sending off sparks and his face looked sort of set. It looked as though we’d never get a chance at the Sunfield store.
In another minute she went whizzing by. I looked at Mark and he looked at me. Somehow it didn’t seem possible he’d gone right by and left us there. But then came a surprise. The car went right along to the hotel, and then it stopped. Skip went inside for something, and Mark and I sneaked down and hid behind a shed. We heard Skip telephoning inside.
He came out in about five minutes. Just as he was getting into the car he looked down and scowled and said something under his breath.
“You’ve got a flat tire, Clancy,” says he, and then he up and expressed his opinion of flat tires in words and syllables and sentences. I gathered he didn’t think much of them.
Clancy got out and looked.
“Flat tire,” says he. “Three flat tires, mister. It’s a regular epidemic,” says he.
“Well,” says Skip, “you might as well git at fixin’ ’em. We can’t spend all day on the road.”
At that he turned around and went into the hotel again, and didn’t come out till Clancy had the tires all fixed up and ready to go. But Clancy didn’t hurry any. First he took off his coat and then he wiped his face, for the dust had been flying, and then he lifted the hood of the car and peeked inside. There wasn’t any reason for it in particular, I guess, but automobile men seem to like to look at their engines whenever they get a chance.
“I wonder,” says he to himself, “if I can git some oil in this metropolis.”
He started out to find if he could, and left the car standing.