On Thursday Gordon was called to the telephone after breakfast. It was Louise Brent at the other end of the line, and Louise informed him that Morris wanted Gordon to come over there if he could. “It’s something about the automobile,” explained Louise. “There’s a man here to look at it, Gordon.” Gordon promised to go right over, and did so. What passed in the sick chamber is not to be set down here, but later Gordon went out to the stable and stood around while a man with grimy hands and a smudge on the end of his nose inspected the blue runabout pessimistically and grunted at intervals. Finally: “About fifty dollars will do it,” he said, in a sad tone of voice. “There’ll have to be new spokes set in that wheel, and them fenders’ll have to be straightened out again, and it’ll need a new lamp and the radiator’s sprung and likely leaks and——” “Fifty dollars will fix it as good as new?” asked Gordon. “I don’t know how good it was when it was new,” responded the man dolefully. “But fifty dollars’ll fix it up in good shape, likely.” “All right. I’ll tell him, and he will let you know. Could you start on it right away?” “Likely I could. I’d have to haul it down to my place, though.” “How long would it take?” “Two or three weeks, likely.” “All right. Much obliged. We’ll let you know for certain to-morrow. Fifty dollars is the cheapest you could do it for?” “Well”—the man scratched his head reflectively—“maybe I could do it for forty-five, if I didn’t find anything else the matter with it. Likely there ain’t.” They called him “Mr. Likely” during the following three weeks, for which period of time the runabout was in his care. Mr. Likely was a born pessimist, and about every two days he called up the Brents’ house to inform whoever answered the telephone that “that wheel’s a lot worse’n I thought it was, and’ll likely have to have a new rim,” or “I got to send out West for a new lamp, and it’ll likely take two weeks or more.” But, to anticipate, Mr. Likely made a good job of it, and in the course of time the blue runabout was returned to the Brents’ stable, shining and polished like a brand-new car. By that time the family had moved out to the cottage at the Point, and it was Gordon who saw the automobile run into the carriage-room under its own power and who locked the door afterward and pocketed the key.