"Say!" Pelty shouts. "Your machine couldn't fall ten miles in thirty minutes. Why don't you get a real automobile? What will you give me to boot for mine?"
They are off, and business in the vicinity suspends.
"I'll trade with you, Pelty," says Chet calmly—quite calmly. "Let me look it over."
He walks carefully around the auto, opens the hood and looks in. "Funny engine, isn't it? I saw one like that at the World's Fair."
Pelty has the hood of Chet's machine open too and is right there with the retort courteous. "Is this an engine or a steam heater?" he asks. "What pressure does she carry?"
"She never heats at all except when I run a long time on low," Chet says eagerly.
"Oh, yes," says Pelty, "I never have to go into low much—"
"Gosh!" Chet explodes. "When you go up Sanders Hill, they have to close two district schools for the noise."
"Only time you ever heard me I was hauling you up with your broken jack-shaft," snorts Pelty. "You ought to get some iron parts for your car. Cheese has gone out of style."
"You still use it for tires, I see," says Chet.