The dealer shrugged his shoulders. “I reckon fifty dollars would make a new car out of her, son. A coat of paint would make a whole pile of difference in her looks, anyway, and I’d paint her and varnish her for—let me see now; well, for thirty dollars. And that’s twenty dollars cheaper than anyone else would do it for. Better think it over.”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t buy her,” laughed Tom. “I haven’t got that much money.”
“Well, I didn’t suppose you had, but maybe your father would buy it for you. Ain’t you John Benton’s son? Ain’t Postmaster Benton your daddy?”
“Yes, sir, but I guess he isn’t buying automobiles just now. If I hear of anyone wanting one, though, I’ll tell them about this one. Want me to help you run it inside?”
“Yes, you might take a wheel over there. Wait till I put the brake off. Now, then! Heave-o! That’s the ticket. Easy! Look out for them hubs on that surrey. All right. Much obliged to you. Tell you what I’ll do, son; if you send a buyer for her, I’ll make you a present of ten dollars. That’s fair, eh? You tell folks she’s a bargain. She is, too. I reckon I could get three hundred for her in the city. I took her in trade from a man over to Graywich. Why, that car cost thirteen hundred dollars when she was new!”
“I guess that was a long time ago, wasn’t it?” hazarded Tom.
“Humph! About three years, if the man told the truth. That ain’t old, though, for an automobile. I was reading the other day about an automobile that had been run twelve years and was as good as new!”
“Will this one run now?” Tom asked.
“She might if she had some gasoline in her. Mind, I ain’t saying she would, for I ain’t tried her. I wouldn’t know how. I never ran one of the things in my life. But the man I took her from says she’ll run, an’ I’ll take his word for it till I find out different. Anyway, she’s all there; there ain’t no parts missing. You can tell ’em that, son.”
“Yes, sir; I will.”