"Gimme a cigarette!" answers Eddie. "I been waitin' here an hour for youse guys. The motor is prob'ly all cold now and the starter may gimme an argument." He gets out and monkeys around the front of the car. "Ain't it nice and roomy back there?" Alex asks me. I moved my knees away from my chin so's I could talk. "Great!" I says. "Only the Gaflooey people is liable to get in trouble on account of them coppin' the design from somebody else." "What d'ye mean?" he asks me, lookin' puzzled. "Well," I tells him, "you gotta admit that the seatin' arrangements back here is a dead steal from a can of sardines!" "Did you ever see anything you couldn't find fault with?" he sneers. "Yeh," I says. "I once got three nickels in change for a dime." At this critical moment, the mechanic gets down on his hands and knees in the street and begins to worry the car like a dog with a bone. Then all of a sudden he crawls underneath it and disappears from the public eye. A lot of shippin' clerks, bookkeepers, salesgirls, brokers, lawyers and the like, on their way downtown to their jobs, figures that you can go to work any day, but an auto bein' fixed calls for immediate attention and gets around us in a circle. This seemed to get Alex's goat, but it was huckleberry pie to the mechanic. He crawls out from under, rolls up his sleeves, ruffles his hair, looks over the crowd and rubs his hands together. "Gimme a cigarette!" he says. "And reach down in that tool box there and hand me up them pliers, a couple of S wrenches, the hammer and a screwdriver!" The crowd sighs with delight, but Alex leaps off the seat like they was bees in the upholstery. "What d'ye want all them there tools for?" he yells. "Stop this monkey business, I'm an hour late now! What's the matter with the car?" The mechanic looks around at the crowd and shakes his head pityin'ly. They give Alex the laugh, and a manicure tells her friend that if she was the mechanic she wouldn't bother with it, but would make Alex fix it himself for gettin' so bold. "What's the matter with the car?" repeats the mechanic, waggin' his head from side to side with a sarcastic movement. "It's been abused, that's all! I ain't had time to go over it carefully; it'll have to be towed down to the shop where we can git it up on jacks and take it apart. I found a leak in the radiator, the bolts is missin' from the muffler, there's a crack in the rear housin' and the clutch seems to grind a bit." Alex grits his teeth and grabs hold of the windshield. "Is that all?" he hisses. "Well, not _all_, no!" says the mechanic, scratchin' his chin. "They must be a couple of pins sheered off of the differential and the--" "They ain't no sich a thing!" roars Alex. "This here's a brand new car, right from our factory--you wooden-headed fule! It ain't been run a mile and they ain't a thing the matter with it, not even a scratch on the paint! You was sent up here to drive this car, not to wreck it. You--"