He grabs up the tool box and hides himself under the car again, while Runyon Q. Sampson begins to fidget around and look at his watch like it was the first one he ever seen. Twenty minutes passed, folleyed by thirty more, and still this mechanic is under the car, makin' sounds like he was fillin' a rush order for tin pans. Alex is as nervous as a cop makin' his first pinch and our friend Sampson begins sayin' things about the Gaflooey roadster that would never of been used by the builders as testimonials. Finally, Alex whispers to me will I get underneath and see what the world's champion auto mechanic is doin' to while away the time. I got out and looked under and--Oh, boy! This bird is layin' on the ground under the car, readin' a dope book on the races! He's got the book in one hand and a hammer in the other and every now and then he reaches back and wallops the dirt pan, without lookin', so's it'll sound like he's fixin' things up. "What seems to be the trouble?" I asks him. "I think Dimpled Dan is like money from home in the first race to-day," he says, "provided they--what--what are you doin' here?" he winds up, droppin' the book. "Git outa there!" I hollers. "If you're a mechanic, I'm Christopher Columbus!" "What d'ye expect for seventy cents an hour--Edison?" he growls. Runyon Q. Sampson has took it all in and now he lets out a beller and leaps from the car. "You infernal idiot!" he bawls at poor Alex. "You've made me miss my appointment. What do you mean by taking up my time with this travesty on an automobile? Why, the thing can't even move! If this is the way it performs when it's fresh from your factory, what can a man expect when it's a few weeks old?" "Maybe it ain't ripe enough yet," I butts in, hopin' to save the situation. "It does look kinda young, don't it?" "Silence!" roars Runyon Q. "I wouldn't buy one of your cars if they were selling at three cents a carload! That's final! Don't you dare come up and bother me again. Get this pile of junk off my place here just as fast as you can, or, by the eternal, I'll have you all arrested for trespassing!" With them few remarks he stamps off across the lawn, bellerin' like a bull. "Well, Alex," I says, "at last you have hit somethin' in little old New York that you can't do, eh?" "That old boob gimme a pain anyways!" remarks the mechanic. "What does he know about machinery? Gimme a cigarette!"