Bud to go with him and look her over. Bud went, glad of the
excuse to kill the rest of the forenoon.

They took the car out and drove to Schutzen Park and back. Bud
opined that she didn't bark to suit him, and she had a knock in
her cylinders that shouted of carbon. They ran her into the
garage shop and went deep into her vitals, and because she jerked
when Bud threw her into second, Bud suspected that her bevel
gears had lost a tooth or two, and was eager to find out for
sure.

Bill looked at his watch and suggested that they eat first
before they got all over grease by monkeying with the rear end.
So they went to the nearest restaurant and had smothered
beefsteak and mashed potato and coffee and pie, and while they
ate they talked of gears and carburetors and transmission and
ignition troubles, all of which alleviated temporarily Bud's case
of cabin fever and caused him to forget that he was married and
had quarreled with his wife and had heard a good many unkind
things which his mother-in-law had said about him.

By the time they were back in the garage and had the grease
cleaned out of the rear gears so that they could see whether they
were really burred or broken, as Bud had suspected, the twinkle
was back in his eyes, and the smiley quirk stayed at the corners
of his mouth, and when he was not talking mechanics with Bill he
was whistling. He found much lost motion and four broken teeth,
and he was grease to his eyebrows--in other words, he was happy.

When he and Bill finally shed their borrowed overalls and caps,