When I went back Harry said, “I suppose you kids will be starting for that old dump up in the Catskills pretty soon.” He meant Temple Camp. I said, “We take our departure in two weeks.”
He said, “Take your which?”
I said, “Our departure; don’t you know what that is?”
“Well,” he said, kind of puzzled like, “I guess I’ll have to pike around and get some assistance somewhere else. I’ve got a little job on hand that I thought might interest you and your patrol. Ever hear of the Junkum Corporation, automobile dealers? They have the agency for the Kluck car. They’re down in New York. It wasn’t anything much; just a little hop, skip, and a jump out west, and back again.”
“In junk cars—I mean Kluck cars?” I blurted out.
“Mostly junk,” he said; “but of course, as long as your plans are made——”
“Never you mind about our plans,” I told him; “tell me all about it.” Because, gee, I was all excited.
He said, “Well, there isn’t much to it; just a little gypsy and caravan stuff, as you might say. My sister’s husband’s brother, Mr. Junkum, is tearing his hair out and lying awake nights, because he can’t get cars here from the west. He says the customers are standing on line and all that sort of thing and that everything is clogged up at the other end, the railroads are all tied up in a knot, the freight is piled up as high as the Woolworth building and nothing short of a good dose of dynamite will loosen up the freight congestion out west. If it was a matter of Ford cars he could get them through by parcel post, but with these big six cylinder Klucks it’s a different proposition. He’s got three touring cars and a big motor van waiting for shipment out in Klucksville, Missouri, and if he can’t make deliveries in a couple of weeks or so his customers are going to cancel. Poor guy, I’m sorry for him.”
That’s just the way Harry talks. He said, “One of those cars, the big enclosed van, is for Jolly and Kidder’s big store in New York.”
“That’s where I bought my last scout suit, at Jolly and Kidder’s,” I told him.