The Argosy, Vol. 82, No. 3 — page 147: what you’re looking at

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

SOLID So one morning we started him off on a new bus, ears buzzing with instructions that made about as much impression on his fossiliferous dome as rain-drops on a gran- ite ledge. But proud! That Swede was the proudest and happiest guy in the State. He was actually m love with the boat; you could tell that from the way he looked at her. : About noon the shop telephone rang. Jenks answered it. ‘Mr. Yenks,” came a plaintive wail over the wire, audible for a dozen. feet, “ Ay bane stuck. She won’t go any more.” ‘Where are you, Ole?” ‘Ay bane at Newton. won’t she go any more? broke?” “No, I guess not, Ole. one to fix you up.” Jenks told Jimmy Conway, one of his repair men, to ride a machine out to New- ton, twenty miles away, and see what had struck Ole. Out of curiosity, and having nothing better to do, I went along on my own boat to keep Jim company. We found the Swede sitting disconsolate- ly on the saddle of his stalled bus. Jim wasted no time in asking questions, but rapped his knuckles against the gas-tank. It sounded hollow, and when he looked inside she was as dry as a Maine election. “You poor simp!” Conway snorted. “Vou got me clear out here just to find your gas is used up.” Ole didn’t say anything, but looked kind of mystified. Jim took a section of rubber tubing from his kit, opened up his own gas-tank, ran the two machines close together, put one end of the tubing in his tank, and started to suck on the other end. When the juice came up to his mouth, Jim pinched the tube shut and put that end into Ole’s tank. That is an easy way to siphon gas from one tank to another, but the fellow that starts the siphon to working usually gets his mouth full of gasoline. “There,” sputtered Conway, trying in vain to spit the taste out of his mouth. “ Now your gosh darned old boat’ll run. And for the lova Mike, next time she stalls, see if you don’t need gas before shooting out the S. O. S. signals. Use your bean.”’ “Why so peevish, Jimmy?” I put in. ‘“‘Didn’t you get more fun riding out here than you would grinding valves back in the shop?”’ Mr. Yenks, why You tank she I'll send some IVORY. 521 “Sure,” he grunted; ‘‘ but anything like that ”—Jjerking a thumb at Ole—“‘ just naturally cops my capricornus. What ’ll we do? Kill it or let it suffer?” “Oh, let it suffer by all means,” I says. ‘The agony process is going to give the rest of us a barrelful of innocent mirth.” Well, we left Ole there, after cautioning him that the gas we’d donated was only good for ten or a dozen miles. It was three by the time we got back to the shop, due to our having to fix a bad blow-out in Con- way’s rear casing. ‘“ Watinell you guys do to Ole?” was the greeting Jenks fired at us. ‘‘ He’s just phoned in he’s stuck again.” “’S a wonder that boob’s got bean enough to use a telephone,” muttered Jim. ‘There wasn’t anything the matter but an empty gas-tank. You might say his think- tank was empty, too; but it wasn’t. He just ain’t got any, that’s all.” “Oh, well,” Jenks soothed him. ‘“ He’s pretty green, I know; but the lad will come along all right. Give him time.” ‘Tl be giving him something a darned sight harder’n time if he don’t start show- ing some intelligence,” grumbled Conway. ‘Want me to chase him up again?” Jenks nodded. ‘““ He’s only a few miles out on the new State road,” he said. So off we went. I wouldn’t have missed being a member of the rescue party for ten simoleons. The more I cogitated, the surer I felt that Ole Swensen and his new motorcycle were going to add at least fifty per cent to the joy of life. Presently we spotted the Swede up the road, cranking away at his motor. When we got there he was dripping, for it was a warm day. “Ay can’t make her go; Ay tank she broke,” he told us, and there was a sobby catch in his voice. All the time he kept spinning the motor as if some one was paying him for it. “Hey stop it, you big cheese!” yelled Jim. ‘“‘ You can’t start her that way; if she was right she’d fire at the first whirl.” “Mr. Yenks he say make her go like dis,” and Ole continued to maul the start- ing system. Conway grabbed him by the shoulder, and shoved him to one side out of the way. A rap at the gas-tank showed it to be full. Then he tested the ignition; each plug gave a husky, blue spark. Go VOOKS (C@)