"What's cc.'s?" asked Woody.
"Cubic centimeters. One thousand cc.'s is sixty-one cubic inches. In other words, with a displacement of around ninety cubic inches, she develops sixty-five horsepower. That's darn close to three quarters of a horsepower for every cubic inch of piston displacement. Not bad, huh?"
Woody admitted that it wasn't bad at all.
"Some of the Jags will turn out one point three six hp. per cubic inch," the MG owner said. "That's on gasoline. That's better than those Offeuhausers do at Indianapolis using gas, alcohol, and nitro."
"Let's go look at some of the Jags and Ferraris," said Steve. "Say, what happened to Worm?"
"Probably crawling around under one of these buggies," said Woody. "I don't think he's ever really happy unless he's got crankcase oil dripping in his face. He brought his tools along."
"There he is," said Steve. "Talking to that little guy over there."
They pushed their way over through a tangle of cars, drivers, and mechanics. The cars looked mostly like toys to Woody, but he had an increasing respect for them. Worm was talking excitedly to the other man. The two seemed to be old friends, and this surprised Woody, for he hadn't known that Worm had any close friends, particularly in sports-car circles.
"Gee," the stranger was saying as they approached, "I haven't clapped eyes on you in ten years. What are you doing with yourself these days?"
"Running my own shop and service station," said Worm.