A grunt was the only reply.
"How's business?"
"Rotten!"
"Bad weather for taxis."
"Rotten!"
"What's the matter? You seem a bit down on your luck."
"Rotten!" declared Blossom, like a bird with one note. "I got a pain in me back and two flat tires; a fellow done me out of my fare last night. Everything is rotten!"
"I'll help with the tires," said Greg.
The morose one stared. "You're new," he said grimly.
Greg nodded towards T7011. "My car," he said.