"Well, maybe he did," said Steve. "But you gotta admit it was you who made the deal." "Say, whose side you on anyway?" Woody asked fiercely. "Yours, pal," said Steve. "But you won't get anywhere blaming other people for what you did. Anyway, that's all over. Did you take the head off Cindy Lou and see how much damage had been done?" For answer Woody reached up to a shelf above his work bench and threw Steve a piston. Part of a connecting rod was fastened to it, but it was snapped off in the middle and twisted like a stick of liquorice. "Gee," said Steve, deeply impressed. "Sure made a mess of that." "You should look at the cylinder," said Woody. "There's a hole in the cylinder wall big enough for an elephant to get through." He led Steve over to a corner of the garage where the engine block of Cindy Lou lay on the floor. There was a rent in one of the cylinder walls and deep score marks on two others. "What did Worm say caused it?" Steve asked. "Jeepers, I know what caused it," said Woody. "The connecting rod snapped in that cylinder, and I busted some rings in those other two. That's what caused it." "Don't get sore, pal," said Steve. "I know that's what caused it. Any kid in the block can tell you that. But why did the connecting rod pop? What does Worm say?" "He says it popped because it wasn't according to Davie's _Problems and Principles of Internal Combustion Engines_," snarled Woody. "That's right," said Worm coming up unexpectedly. "There's a sweet little chapter in there that will tell ye all aboot it. Noo, frae the look of that I'd say that yere crankshaft was no properly in balance--just enough to set up a bit of a whip in yon connecting rod. Though it's possible the metal was a mite tired. Ye're lucky it did'na go clean through the block and spray ye wi' scalding water and hot oil. But dinna worrit. Nae doot one day ye'll get another and do the same foolish thing all over again." Woody, however, for the time being had had enough of hot rods. Every time he looked at Cindy Lou or at the engine block lying disconsolate on the garage floor, he felt sick. In the end, he decided to sell what he could of her. He'd spent a total of four hundred dollars on the car, not counting innumerable hours of his own labor. Disposed of piecemeal, he got back eighty, reselling the carburetor manifold to Bob Peters for eight dollars. He wasn't very happy when he heard that Bob sold it a week later for much more. With the eighty dollars he decided that he'd better try to patch things up with Mary Jane. The point was, should he buy her a present and call on her, or should he telephone her and get a date and then turn up with a present? He decided to telephone, and it was just as well, because she wasn't in. She wasn't in when he called the next day either, though her mother, Mrs. Jackson, sounded encouraging. "I think she'll be in in a few minutes," she said. "Mary Jane just went down to the library."