“I bet he could scratch his ear with his big toe all right,” Pant had laughed. “Some contortionist, maybe.”
At the word “contortionist” Johnny had started. He recalled his struggle back there in the factory with the fellow who appeared to have all the strange characteristics of a contortionist. So strong was the resemblance between this man and the one back in the garage he was tempted to turn back.
But he had called himself fanciful and foolish, and had gone on with Pant for their lunch.
Upon returning to the garage, however, his first thought was of the car. The instant his eyes fell upon it a quick exclamation had escaped his lips, and he bounded forward.
Dressed in a suit of unionalls, and bending over the engine, had been the slim stranger.
“Hey, there! What’s up?” Johnny had demanded.
“Tunin’ her up a bit. Why? What’s worry’n’ yuh?”
Johnny eyed the stranger angrily.
“That’s our car. We didn’t order any work done in it.”
“Your car?” The other had straightened up in amazement, real or cleverly pretended. “Why, then I’m workin’ on the wrong jitney! Beg your pardon. I’ll put her back in shape. Won’t take but a minute.”