“Say, Tom,” Al said, “I been thinkin’. We got no ring clamps. Gonna be a job gettin’ them rings in, specially underneath.” Tom said, “Ya know, a fella tol’ me one time ya wrap some fine brass wire aroun’ the ring to hol’ her.”
“Yeah, but how ya gonna get the wire off?”
“Ya don’t get her off. She melts off an’ don’t hurt nothin’.”
“Copper wire’d be better.”
“It ain’t strong enough,” said Tom. He turned to the one-eyed man.
“Got any fine brass wire?”
“I dunno. I think they’s a spool somewheres. Where d’ya think a fella could get one a them patches one-eye’ fellas wear?”
“I don’ know,” said Tom. “Le’s see if you can fin’ that wire.” In the iron shed they dug through boxes until they found the spool. Tom set the rod in a vise and carefully wrapped the wire around the piston rings, forcing them deep into their slots, and where the wire was twisted he hammered it flat; and then he turned the piston and tapped the wire all around until it cleared the piston wall. He ran his finger up and down to make sure that the rings and wire were flush with the wall. It was getting dark in the shed. The one-eyed man brought a flashlight and shone its beam on the work.
“There she is!” said Tom. “Say—what’ll ya take for that light?”
“Well, it ain’t much good. Got fifteen cents’ a new batteries. You can have her for—oh, thirty-five cents.”