chug.

"Now, what's that?" asked the curious Frank.

"It's a little gasoline motor," explained Ned. "Step in and see what a
famous tinkering shop on wheels we've got."

"Why, this is just grand!" declared Frank, as he glanced around the
interior of the wagon in an admiring way.

"Yes, it's clean, attractive and made up to date," said Ned. "The man who
owns these outfits is working up some good routes. If you have anything to
sharpen, now, I'll show you the kind of work we do."

Frank whipped out his pocket knife in a jiffy. Ned touched a lever near the
motor, and things went whirring. There was a busy hum that made the place
delightful to Frank. He was astonished and pleased to observe how deftly
his companion handled the knife, putting it through a dozen operations,
from grinding to stropping and polishing. Then he adjusted a little drill
to a handle and said:

"I'll put your name on the handle, if you like."

"All right," assented Frank with satisfaction. "It's Frank Jordan."

"There you are," said Ned a minute later, handing the knife back to Frank.
"You'll find a blade there that will cut a hair."

"Yes, that's fine work," declared Frank, looking over the knife in a
gratified way. "You've got quite a trade, haven't you?"