Kid Scanlan. Witwer Harry Charles

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ F. I suppose even you know what an A number one car that is, don't you?"

      "No!" I answers. "But I know what A. G. F. means."

      He falls.

      "What?" he wants to know.

      "Always Gettin' Fixed!" I tells him. "They make all them used cars. I know a guy had two of them and between 'em they made a fortune for three garages and five lawyers! How old is it?"

      "Old!" says I. Markowitz, recovering "Who said it was old? Your wife should be as young as that car! It was turned in here last week, only eight short days from the factory. The owner was sudden called he should go out of town and – "

      "And he went somewheres and got an automobile to make the trip," I cuts him off, "and left this thing here!"

      "Don't mind him!" says the Kid, gettin' impatient. "Gimme a receipt." He digs down for the roll.

      While I. Markowitz is countin' the money with lovin' fingers, I went around to one side of the so called auto and looked at the speedometer. One flash at the little trick clock was ample.

      "Stop!" I yells, glarin' at him. "How long did you say this car had been out of the factory?"

      "Right away he hollers at me!" says I. Markowitz to the Kid. "A week."

      "Well," I tells him, "all I got to say is that the bird that had it must have been fleein' the police! He certainly seen a lot of the world, but I can't figure how he slept. He was what you could call a motorin' fool. It says on this speedometer here, 45,687 miles and if that guy did it in a week, I got to hand it to him! I'll bet he's so nutty over speed that he's goin' around now bein' shot out of cannons from place to place, eh?"

      I. Markowitz gets kinda balled up and blows his nose twice.

      "That must be the – the – motor number!" he stammers.

      "Sure!" nods the Kid. "Don't mind him, he's always got the hammer out. Count that change and gimme a receipt."

      "Wait!" I says. "Gimme one more chance to save you from givin' yourself the work. Have you heard the motor turn over? Does the clutch slip in all right? Do the brakes work? Has the – "

      "Say!" butts in the Kid. "What d'ye think I been doin' – workin' here at nights? Don't mind him," he tells I. Markowitz, who ain't. "Hurry up with that receipt!"

      "How is the motor?" I asks that brigand. "Tell me that, will you?"

      "Convalescent!" he sneers, tuckin' the Kid's bankroll away.

      "Some motor, eh?" pipes the Kid. "And it's got a one-man top on it besides, ain't it?" he asks I. Markowitz.

      "Why not?" says he. "Everything new and up to date you would find on this car which only yesterday I could have sold to a feller for a thousand dollars!"

      After pullin' that, he walks over to the thing and climbs in the back. "An example!" he says. "If you're alone in the car and there's nobody with you, you only should stand up on the seat and pull up the top like this, if it comes up a rain. Then you – "

      I didn't hear the rest on account of him havin' trouble makin' his voice travel from under the seat, because he reached up and pulled somethin' here and jerked somethin' there – and that one-man top made good! I thought at first the ceilin' of the joint had fell in, and I'll bet I. Markowitz knowed it had, but then I seen it was only the thing that keeps the rain out of the car. Me and the Kid drags him out, and as soon as he gets on his feet and felt to see if he had his watch and so forth, he wipes the dirt out of his eyes and turns on me.

      "It's a wonder I ain't now dead on account from you?" he snarls. "I suppose you're one of them wise fellers from New Jersey, which they got to be showed everything, heh?"

      "Missouri!" I says. "Not New Jersey. If I was from New Jersey, I would probably be fightin' with the Kid to let me buy the car!"

      "It's got a self-commencer on it, too!" yelps the Kid, climbin' into the front seat. "See – lookit!" He presses a button with his foot and a laughin' hyena or somethin' in the hood moans a couple of times and then passes away.

      "The first time I wouldn't be surprised you should have to crank it," says I. Markowitz. "The motor has been standin' so long – I mean – that is – speakin' of motors, I think that one is maybe a little cold! Once she gets runnin' everything will be A number one!"

      I goes around the front of the thing and stoops down.

      "Put her on battery, if there's any on there," I calls to the Kid, "and I'll spin the motor!"

      I. Markowitz steps over and lays his hand on my arm. His face is as serious as prohibition.

      "Its only fair I should tell you," he whispers, "that she kicks a little!"

      I give him a ungrateful look and grabs hold of the crank. After turnin' the thing ninety-four times without gettin' nothin' but a blister on my thumb, I quit.

      "Nothin' stirrin'," I remarks to I. Markowitz.

      "Believe me, that's funny!" he tells me, shakin' his head like he had ball bearin's in his neck.

      "Ain't it?" I says. "Are you positive they's a motor inside there?"

      He makes a funny little noise in his throat and not knowin' him long, I didn't know what he meant. There's a big husky in overalls walkin' by with plenty of medium oil on his face and a monkey wrench in his hand. I. Markowitz hisses at him, and they exchange jokes in some foreign language for a minute and then the new-comer grabs hold of that crank like the idea was to see if he could upset the car in three twists. He gives it a turn, and I guess the Kid had got to monkeyin' around them little buttons on the steerin' wheel because it went off like a cannon. First, there was a great big bang! And then a cloud of smoke rolls out of the back of the car and the bird that had wound the thing up come to in an oil can, half way across the floor. The Kid fell off the seat and me and I. Markowitz busted the hundred yard record to the front door.

      "That was a rotten trick, wasn't it?" I asks him when we stopped.

      "What do you talk tricks?" he pants.

      "Why," I tells him, "puttin' that dynamite in the hood!"

      "That wasn't dynamite," he says. "She only backfired a little. I wouldn't be surprised if it turned out there was, now, too much air in the carburetor. The only reason I ran out here is because I seen it passin' a friend of mine and – "

      "I know," I cuts him off. "I seen it too!"

      We go back to the Kid and his play toy, and he's leanin' up against the side of it rubbin' his shoulder and scowlin'.

      "What kind of stuff was that, eh?" he growls at I. Markowitz. "I liked to broke my neck!"

      "'Snothin'!" says he, pattin' the Kid on the back and smilin'. "You could do that with a new car, you could take my word for it. It's all, now, experience!" He looks around. "Herschel!" he hollers.

      It turns out that Herschel is the guy that had wound the thing up, and he gets out of the oil can and comes over, mutterin' to himself and glarin' at all of us. He takes off the hood and stalls around it with a hammer and a monkey wrench for a minute, still mutterin' away, and you could see he wasn't wishin' us no luck. Finally, he puts the hood on again and walks around to the crank.

      "As soon as you could СКАЧАТЬ