"Look, Grandpa!"
"Yeah! There 'tis. It's a automobile all right. A one-seater. Foot dool! I wish it wasn't coming so all-fired fast. It ain't a Ford Model T. But hanged if I can tell what make it is." Grandpa was talking low and quick, as much to himself as to me and Mama. "Man, man, just look at her wheels roll! Lickety-split!"
Mama shielded her eyes against the morning sun and looked hard at the black automobile. I put my hand up on my forehead too, and stared. The thing sailed right by in a big whiff of dust and was gone before any of us had a chance to get a good look at it.
Wiley and Trixie ran up in the thick of the dust cloud. He was hollering and waving his arms; she was barking at every breath.
"Did y'all see it? Did y'all see it? What kind was it, Grandpa? Could you tell? Didn't it have a funny gasoline tank? Mama, lem'me go to the store! Will you? It's bound to stop, and I could see it up close. Can I go? Can I, Mama?"
Wiley was gasping for breath as he talked.
"Son, you couldn't run all the way from here to your papa's store. It's a mile, and you're out of wind already!"
"No'm, I got plenty of wind. And I ain't gonna run. I'll ride Dale. Please, Mama! Please?"
"I don't think—"
"Why don't you let him go, Nannie? If I was ten years younger, I'd go myself!"