"Huh! Such an auto! Look, it break my harness a'ready! Two dollar that cost you to mend it. De auto iss too heavy!" stormed Zolzac. "All right! All right! Only for heaven's sake--go get another harness!" Claire shrieked. "Fife-fifty dot will be, in all." Zolzac grinned. Claire was standing in front of him. She was thinking of other drivers, poor people, in old cars, who had been at the mercy of this golden-hearted one. She stared past him, in the direction from which she had come. Another motor was in sight. It was a tin beetle of a car; that agile, cheerful, rut-jumping model known as a "bug"; with a home-tacked, home-painted tin cowl and tail covering the stripped chassis of a little cheap Teal car. The lone driver wore an old black raincoat with an atrocious corduroy collar, and a new plaid cap in the Harry Lauder tartan. The bug skipped through mud where the Boltwoods' Gomez had slogged and rolled. Its pilot drove up behind her car, and leaped out. He trotted forward to Claire and Zolzac. His eyes were twenty-seven or eight, but his pink cheeks were twenty, and when he smiled--shyly, radiantly--he was no age at all, but eternal boy. Claire had a blurred impression that she had seen him before, some place along the road. "Stuck?" he inquired, not very intelligently. "How much is Adolph charging you?" "He wants three-fifty, and his harness broke, and he wants two dollars----" "Oh! So he's still working that old gag! I've heard all about Adolph. He keeps that harness for pulling out cars, and it always busts. The last time, though, he only charged six bits to get it mended. Now let me reason with him." The young man turned with vicious quickness, and for the first time Claire heard pidgin German--German as it is spoken between Americans who have never learned it, and Germans who have forgotten it: "_Schon sex_ hundred times _Ich höre_ all about the way you been doing autos, Zolzac, you _verfluchter Schweinhund_, and I'll set the sheriff on you----" "Dot ain'd true, maybe _einmal die Woche kommt_ somebody and _Ich muss die Arbeit immer lassen und in die Regen ausgehen, und seh' mal_ how _die_ boots _sint mit_ mud covered, two dollars it don't pay for _die_ boots----" "Now that's enough-plenty out of you, _seien die_ boots _verdammt_, and _mach' dass du fort gehst_--muddy boots, hell!--put _mal ein_ egg in _die_ boots and beat it, _verleicht_ maybe I'll by golly arrest you myself, _weiss du_! I'm a special deputy sheriff." The young man stood stockily. He seemed to swell as his somewhat muddy hand was shaken directly at, under, and about the circumference of, Adolph Zolzac's hairy nose. The farmer was stronger, but he retreated. He took up the reins. He whined, "Don't I get nothing I break de harness?" "Sure. You get ten--years! And you get out!" From thirty yards up the road, Zolzac flung back, "You t'ink you're pretty damn smart!" That was his last serious reprisal.