"Hello," cried Randy as cheerfully as a wedding guest. "I see you're busy as usual. Where's my old friend Worm?"
"There," said Woody pointing under a big Buick. One thin foot of Worm's showed, revealing cotton socks of a pale lemon color. This foot wiggled a greeting, and Worm's voice came from underneath the automobile. "I'll be oot in a minute," he said. "When I get this bell housing back again."
"Take your time," said Randy. "Just a social call."
Woody grinned across at Rocky. "How's the MG?" he asked.
"Just super," she said smiling back. "All ready for Hansen Dam. I sent in my forms last night. How about you?"
"Well, er," said Woody. "I didn't get around to it yet."
Rocky looked at him out of her teasing, half-mocking eyes. "You'd better hurry," she said. "You've only got two more days. Unless you'd prefer not to race."
"Oh, I want to race all right," said Woody. "I just didn't get around to it, that's all."
"I had her tuned yesterday," Rocky continued. "Purrs like a sewing machine. Daddy says she's in tiptop racing form right now. If you can get off for a minute, why don't you drive her around the block a couple of times? I could come with you." The last sentence was said very casually. But there was no escaping the invitation it contained.
"Gee," said Woody, "we're right in the middle of installing a clutch here. After work, if you're still around, I'd sure like to try her out."