“Worse! That’s why you’ve got to knock off this afternoon and get your mind off the thing. Why, the first thing you know you’ll have brain fever or automobilitis!”
“More likely painter’s colic,” suggested Tom.
“Something, anyhow. So you’ve got to come to the game. And if you say one single word about automobiles all the afternoon I’ll—I’ll beat you!”
“All right, I’ll come then,” Tom laughed. “Not that I’m afraid of a little runt like you, though.”
“You aren’t, eh?” asked Willard, scowling threateningly.
“Not a bit.” Tom painted calmly. “How much have you got to do?”
“Not much. I’m almost at the bottom. Are you going to have the—the running gear the same shade?”
“Yes. I thought first we’d have it lighter, but I guess it will look just as well to have the body and the chassis the same tone. Do you?”
“Sure; more toney!” The boys painted for a while in silence. Then: “When are we going to get those things from the factory?” Willard asked. Tom shook his head.