“Make it sit up and beg, can’t you?” asked a man in a hammock.
“I’ve got an inspiration,” whispered Pee-wee; “let’s make it talk and take up collections wherever we go. Will you? We can get a lot of money that way. I’ll pass around my hat now, shall I, and then we’ll make it say ‘good-by.’”
“We don’t want any money,” said Townsend; “you’ll spoil all the fun. It talks for love, like you. It doesn’t talk for money. I wonder if I could borrow a hatchet while I’m here?” he asked aloud.
“You going to chop down your little Ford?” the genial occupant of the hammock inquired.
It seemed that a hatchet was the only implement which would reach a certain bolt and act as a screw-driver.
“Maybe it won’t talk any more if you do that,” Pee-wee warned.
“Oh, yes, it’ll sing for a while now,” said Townsend. And so it did, a weird oriental tune, for eight or ten miles till they stopped to get gasoline. This was at a little supply station in a shack and the proprietor of the establishment could not be found. After wandering about, and whistling and calling, Townsend decided to go on to the next place.
“Have we got enough gas?” Pee-wee asked concernedly.
“I don’t know where the next place is,” Townsend said. “What do you mean by enough?”
As Pee-wee never had enough of anything himself he was not able, when put to it, to say just what was meant by that word.