Peter's adventure had started so auspiciously that he could scarcely believe this new turn of events. He had come steaming into town sixty miles an hour on his motorcycle, dressed in his best serge suit and wearing his brightest tie. After an hour of agony and anticipation he had been ushered into the awe-inspiring offices of president Mike O'Casey.
"Know anything about trailers?" asked O'Casey.
"No, but I could learn."
"Is that your motorcycle out in front?"
"Yes sir."
"Can you take'er apart and put'er together?"
"You're darned right I can ... I mean, yes sir. And I know all about Fords and thrashing machines."
Mr. O'Casey smiled at the serious, eager young man before him.
"I'm seventeen going on eighteen," Peter said.