"Old!" says I. Markowitz, recovering "Who said it was old? Your wife should be as young as that car! It was turned in here last week, only eight short days from the factory. The owner was sudden called he should go out of town and—"
"And he went somewheres and got an automobile to make the trip," I cuts him off, "and left this thing here!"
"Don't mind him!" says the Kid, gettin' impatient. "Gimme a receipt." He digs down for the roll.
While I. Markowitz is countin' the money with lovin' fingers, I went around to one side of the so called auto and looked at the speedometer. One flash at the little trick clock was ample.
"Stop!" I yells, glarin' at him. "How long did you say this car had been out of the factory?"
"Right away he hollers at me!" says I. Markowitz to the Kid. "A week."
"Well," I tells him, "all I got to say is that the bird that had it must have been fleein' the police! He certainly seen a lot of the world, but I can't figure how he slept. He was what you could call a motorin' fool. It says on this speedometer here, 45,687 miles and if that guy did it in a week, I got to hand it to him! I'll bet he's so nutty over speed that he's goin' around now bein' shot out of cannons from place to place, eh?"
I. Markowitz gets kinda balled up and blows his nose twice.
"That must be the—the—motor number!" he stammers.
"Sure!" nods the Kid. "Don't mind him, he's always got the hammer out. Count that change and gimme a receipt."