Townsend stuck his feet up where the lower pane of the windshield had once been and hummed as he caressed the steering-wheel fondly.
“When both the brakes are braking,
And the rattling doors are shaking,
And you sit upon the bare springs in the seat;
Will you love me like you uster,
When she’s crowing like a rooster,
And the oilcloth cushions look like shredded wheat?”
CHAPTER XXVIII
ADVENTURES WITH A FLIVVER—CONTINUED
Townsend would never sing any of these verses when Pee-wee wanted him to. Pee-wee’s appetite for them soon became voracious. It was usually when something went wrong (which was about every ten minutes) that Townsend would edify his small companion with a new verse while making some small repair or adjustment. At such trying moments his affection for the car seemed to pass all bounds. His plaintive query would then take wings and his loving soul burst into song, greatly to Pee-wee’s amusement.