“Well, I think I’ll have some tea!” said Franklin.
So in we went.
I was not at all tired, but the wind had made me sleepy. It had been a pleasant day, like all these days—save for the evoked spirits of dead things. We drank and smiled and paid and then sped out of Indianapolis’s best street, north, and on to Carmel. We were within a mile and a half of Franklin’s home when we had our last blowout in the front right wheel—the two rear ones carried new tires.
“I knew it!” exclaimed Bert crustily, reaching for his crutches and getting himself out. “I knew we’d never get back without one. I was just wondering where it was going to happen.”
“That’s funny, Bert!” exclaimed Franklin. “The last time we came north from Indianapolis, do you remember, we broke down right here.”
“I remember all right,” said Bert, getting out the tools and starting to loosen the tire clamps. “You’d better get out your note book, Mr. Dreiser, and make a note of this; the trip’s not done yet.”
Bert had seen me draw my deadly pencil and paper so often that he could not resist that one comment.
“I’ll try and remember this, Bert, without notes, if you’ll just get the wheel on,” I commented wearily.
“This is what comes of thinking evil,” called Franklin jocosely. “If Bert hadn’t been thinking that we ought to have a breakdown here, we wouldn’t have had one. The puncture was really in his psychic unity.”
“What’s that?” asked Bert, looking up.