The only other living thing on this romantic hamlet was a billy goat within the enclosure, who, upon seeing the Ford stop close by the tracks, dropped a rusty tin can which he had been chewing on, and sauntered toward the edge of his domains surveying the visitors through an old woven wire bed spring. “You don’t suppose he wants to eat the flivver, do you?” Townsend asked. “Bah—h—h—h,” said the billy goat. “Quite well, thank you,” said Townsend. “How are _you_?” Then to Pee-wee he said, “Let’s see how much gas we’ve got, I mean how little.” They both climbed out and Townsend lifted the front seat cushion, revealing a veritable feast of torn burlap and disordered straw at which the goat seemed to cast a yearning eye. “_Jumping Christopher_, we’ve only got about half a pint,” said Townsend. “If we get across the tracks we’re lucky.” “We should have kept on going,” said Pee-wee. “In that case we would have knocked the train over,” said Townsend. “Wait a minute, I’m going to ask the lady if we can get gas anywhere around here.” He strolled over to the table d’hôte fence and called to the hostess of the establishment: “Gasoline? Can we get gasoline anywhere around here?” “Idner,” the woman responded, shrugging her shoulders. “I say is there a gas station near?” “Gess (shrug) lotterdamile gess, Idner.” “Very far—long way?” “Gess yer Idner,” said the woman with another shrug. “There must be a place or a man named Idner somewhere,” said Townsend. “She means, _I don’t know_,” said Pee-wee. “Baaah—h—h,” said the goat. “How’s that?” said Townsend. “I’ve got an inspiration,” shouted Pee-wee. “Baaah—h—h,” said the goat. “I don’t know which of you to believe,” said Townsend. “Do you want me to tell you?” Pee-wee yelled. “Oh, certainly, when you have time.” “Didn’t that man back at that place say he was expecting the gasoline wagon? I’m going to climb up into that switch tower and see if it’s coming. I bet I can scan the landscape from up there.” “You can what it?” “Scan it; I bet I can see a—a vista.” “We don’t want a vista, we want some gas.” “You’re crazy,” said Pee-wee, “a vista is when you see a long way up a narrow road, like. I can look both ways; back over the hill, too, I bet.” “I’m going to take one more chance with Mrs. Spaghetti,” said Townsend. And raising his voice he asked again, simplifying the query, “Gas? Makadergas. Way far?” The woman shrugged her shoulders again, “Wayerderfer Idner, makerderfergess Idner. Idner spiggedyamer.” “Very well,” said Townsend, “if that’s the way you feel about it. It looks as if we’ll have to stay neighbors; we might as well be friends. Let’s push the car over to the side of the road, Kid. I don’t think much of this for a camping spot.”