Mr. Greatorex stared.
“You mend it! ’Pon my word!”
And then he burst into a roar of laughter which carried away his ill-humour, for Mr. Greatorex was normally a very good-tempered person.
The situation was, in truth, amusing. The boy was a little fellow under four feet high. He had a round chubby face, not free from stains. He wore corduroy breeches much too large for him, big clumping boots, and a flannel shirt open at the neck. His blue eyes peeped up from beneath a large, soft, much-discoloured straw hat. And this little urchin had actually offered to mend a motor-car with which Mr. Greatorex, with all his knowledge of mechanism, had been struggling for half an hour in vain!
“Come, cut along, youngster,” he said genially. “Let me see how fast you can run.”
“I’ll mend un if you give me leave. ’Twill save time,” persisted the boy.
Mr. Greatorex pulled out his watch. What a joke, he thought—this sprat of a boy offering to tackle his huge motor-car! It was only a little after five; there might still be time to fetch the smith, get the repairs made, and yet reach home by half-past seven. A little rest would not come amiss after his exertions. Why not let the youngster try his hand—for the fun of it?
“Well then, fire away, my young engineer. I’ve been at it half an hour, confound the thing!”
“What have ’ee done, measter?”