“Hi, boy!” he shouted. The boy picked up his hat, stuck it on his head, and approached.
“Look here, youngster,” said Mr. Greatorex, “the car is all right!”
“Told ’ee so, measter.”
Mr. Greatorex roared.
“You’re a wonderful little chap. Bless my soul, how did you do it?”
“I’ll show ’ee if you’ll get out.”
“No thank ’ee. I’ve already had half an hour at it, and I’m as black as a nigger. What was wrong?”
“A bit of grit was stuck in the petrol spray nozzle, so you couldn’t get no petrol into the carburetter.”
“Oh!” said Mr. Greatorex blankly. “What’s your name?”
“Tom Dorrell.”