Bill looked at his watch and suggested that they eat first
before they got all over grease by monkeying with the rear end.
So they went to the nearest restaurant and had smothered
beefsteak and mashed potato and coffee and pie, and while they
ate they talked of gears and carburetors and transmission and
ignition troubles, all of which alleviated temporarily Bud's case
of cabin fever and caused him to forget that he was married and
had quarreled with his wife and had heard a good many unkind
things which his mother-in-law had said about him.
By the time they were back in the garage and had the grease
cleaned out of the rear gears so that they could see whether they
were really burred or broken, as Bud had suspected, the twinkle
was back in his eyes, and the smiley quirk stayed at the corners
of his mouth, and when he was not talking mechanics with Bill he
was whistling. He found much lost motion and four broken teeth,
and he was grease to his eyebrows--in other words, he was happy.
When he and Bill finally shed their borrowed overalls and caps,
the garage lights were on, and the lot behind the shop was dusky.
Bud sat down on the running board and began to figure what the
actual cost of the bargain would be when Bill had put it into
good mechanical condition.
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