“Don’ know jes’ w’at dat is, Mistah Gerald, but I ain’t got hit—no, sah, I ain’t got hit.”
“Now, Jim,” Gerald continued, as they bent over to look under the car, “you see the gear is of the selective sliding type, which has been adopted by all the high grade cars. And back here is what they term a floating axle. The wheels and tires are both extra large—in fact, there is nothing about the car, that I’ve been able to discover, that is not the best in the business.”
“What a fine automobile agent you’d make, Gerald!”
“Do you think so?”
“Surely. You spiel it off like a professional. The only difference is, I feel what you say is true. I am greatly taken with that engine, and should like to see it run.”
“When we start in a moment, you shall have that pleasure. Of course, I could run it for you now, while the machine is standing still, but they say it’s poor practice to race your engine. If you do so, the wear and tear is something awful.”
“I’d heard that, but had forgotten,” said Jim.
“Well, come on, now, and I’ll take you and Ephy for a spin, and, incidentally, I’ll teach you both how to run the car.”
Jim crawled into the front seat, Ephraim occupying the big five-passenger compartment in the rear. Gerald, after “cranking up,” took his seat behind the steering wheel.