r luck or
somethin'. We also have a mechanic with us in case of fire. Are you
fond of automobilin'?"

"Much more so than of conversation!" he barks.

"That stops me!" I says. "I'm dumb from now on. What is it who's this
says? Silence is golden, speech is human--ain't it?"

We have reached the car by this time, and Alex steps forward.

"Good morning, Mister Sampson!" he says. "I want to thank you for the
company and myself, for volunteering your judgment as to whether our
new model chummy roadster is a good car or not."

Sampson walks around it a couple of times, opens the hood, looks at the
motor and sniffs.

"It's entirely too small!" he announces. "The body is grotesque, the
paint is a horrible color and the chassis seems out of alignment."

"Exactly what I thought you would say!" agrees Alex, noddin' his head
like Sampson had raved over the car. "We will make any changes you
suggest. After all, you'll be the one to use it and that makes you the
one to be pleased. We have custom made suits, shoes and shirts--why
not custom made automobiles?"

"Hmph!" grunts Sampson.

"I'll fall," I says, hopin' to break the embarrassin' silence. "Why
not?"

"Shut up!" hisses Alex. "Would you allow us to give you a little
spin?" he asks.

"Ha, ha!" pipes the mechanic all of a sudden. "That's a hot one, ain't
it?" he grins at Sampson. "Sure, old top, we'll give you a spin!" he
says, jabbin' the floor board with his feet. "That's if this boiler
will roll. Some of you guys will have to give the motor a little spin,
if you want to go away from here. She's gone cold on me again! Gimme
a cigarette, will you?"

Alex presented him with a glance that would of froze boilin' oil.

"Step right in, Mister Sampson," he says. "We'll run around the roads
here and--"

"We'll do nothing of the sort!" snaps Sampson. "I've got to be at my
office by three o'clock and you can drive me down there. In that way
I'll be wasting no time and I can see what your car can do through
traffic as well as on the road."

"Elegant!" says Alex. "Step right in."

Runyon Q. Sampson steps right in and after gettin' a cigarette from me,
the mechanic steps on the gas. We run every bit of a hundred yards
across the lawn and then all of a sudden the Gaflooey roadster stops
deader than Columbus. The mechanic tried everything from blowin' the
horn to crawlin' underneath it again, but they was nothin' stirrin'.

"Well," he says to Alex,