Jim searched about for a sign of a gas-station, but discovered none, then he watched for a garage, either public or private, and at last he came to a small one, where a negro was sleeping contentedly in a backless chair tilted precariously against the wall. The boy glanced into the tumbled building, but there was no sign of filling equipment, and as he stepped by the attendant, the chap opened his eyes a narrow slit.
“I want to buy some gas,” Jim told him.
“Yas—”
“Have you got any here?”
“Yas—”
“Ebbeyket—” the man drawled, and from the depths of somewhere a second man appeared. He stood a moment eyeing Jim, but the man at the door had resumed his nap.
“I want to buy some gas,” Jim explained.
“Yasss—”
“Right away.”