The Argosy, Vol. 81, No. 4 — page 14: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

580 telephone at seven-forty-five to take his twenty-first order for that one day, Orton regarded the “junk car” as the crowning achievement of his life. It is doubtful whether the phenomenal number of sales changed his view. As a matter of fact, Hardy had accom- plished feats of selling which outclassed the mere taking of a lot of orders from people who were ready to buy anything on four wheels that they could get quickly. But, as a demonstration of ability to do anything and everything in the world that can be done to an automobile, his “‘junk car” stood in a class all by itself. Outwardly the “junk car”’ belied its name by looking slightly in advance of the prom- ised cars of 1916. Inwardly it was a mechanism to challenge the best. Yet it was Orton’s constant boast that nothing new had entered its construction. Its engine had come from a huge foreign car that had gone over an embankment and landed a tangled wreck—eight cylinders, sleeve-valve silence, eighty horse-power. The transmission had come from another wreck, and was strictly American. Rear construction had been found in a junk-shop. Wheels—but we have told enough. The car was the work of a wizard in motor-construction. Hardy Orton was such a wizard. There are a few, even if you never can find one in a repair shop. He sighed as he stuffed down another half dozen sandwiches in lieu of dinner, while he directed Herman in adjusting a bearing that had knocked annoyingly in the Rollerton on the last four demonstration trips. It hurt him to take that Rollerton for the ride with Arlene Atherton. The “junk car” was part of himself; the Rollerton was busi- ness. It was turning his ride from personal pleasure into a demonstration of a car. The sandwiches, however, braced him for the ordeal. After all, riding with her in a Rollerton was lots better than not riding with her at all. Besides, he could recall a time when he had started on a courting trip with another girl, decided he didn’t want her, and sold her a car instead of marrying her. It would be poor work, if he could not reverse the proceeding. He swallowed the last sandwich, directed Miss Stearn in mailing the orders, hurried Herman in getting the plate back on to the crank-case, and headed for his boarding- house at seven minutes of eight. At three minutes after eight he emerged again, THE ARGOSY. scoured, cleaned, and in a fresh suit. Two miles of traffic-ridden streets separated him from the front of the Atherton lawn. He rang the Atherton door-bell at ten minutes after eight. For Hardy Orton had conceived an idea for the turning of the trip into something more than a demonstration. And Hardy Orton with an idea was one of the swiftest things in the world until the idea was ac- complished. | The idea might not have appealed so well to some of Arlene Atherton’s other male acquaintances. Orton had acquired, by quick imitativeness, the ability to talk decent Eng- lish and to behave in company so as not to disgrace a suit of evening dress. But he had led too busy a life to get much beyond that outward appearance of good breeding. Of the inner rulings and workings of social life he was blissfully innocent. Arlene kept him waiting twenty minutes after his arrival. For once in his days Orton took comfort from a delay when he had an idea boiling in his brain. The delay was pleasantly significant. If, he surmised, she was interested only in his car, she would not keep him waiting. He had seen girls who were interested in cars before. If, however, she were interested in him, she would keep him waiting to hide the interest. And there you were. * Arlene came down alone. This was bet- ter than he had dared to hope. Orton had imagined he would have to go up against that highly distasteful invention of good society yclept a chaperon. “T did want father to go with us,” she apologized. ‘‘But he just telephoned that he won’t get back from New York until ten. I guess, though, since it’s to be my car, he will let me decide whether I like it or not. He may object to the price, though.” Orton helped her aboard. His hand caught the impression that her elbow was trembling. He got almost the same sensa- tion as if her elbow had been the vibrator of a spark coil; it circuited a little shock of delight through his whole system. If she were that excited over the car, she would not have kept him waiting twenty minutes, would she? If she were afraid of him, she would not go out on a moonlight ride with him. If she were not interested in him, she would not be excited about go- ing. Reason enough, then, for feeling cheerful. Of course she kept him talking car. He Gomichoo (C <S (E@)