"Garage? Oh, we haven't any garage," said Jim pleasantly, with a mute
twinkle in his Irish eye.

"No garage? Haven't any garage! What town is this,--if you call it a
town?"

"Why, mon, this is Sawbeth Volley! Shorely ye've heard of Sawbeth
Volley!"

"No, I never heard of it!" said the stranger contemptuously, "but from
what I've seen of it so far I should say it ought to be called Hell's
Pit! Well, what do you do when you want your car fixed?"

"Well, we don't hoppen to hove a cyar," said Tom with a meditative air,
stooping to examine the spokes of a wheel, "Boot, ef we hod mon, I'm
thenkin' we'd _fix_ it!"

Jim gave a flicker of a chuckle in his throat, but kept his outward
gravity. The stranger eyed the two malevolently, helplessly, and began
once more, holding his rage with a cold voice.

"Well, how much do you want to fix my car?" he asked, thrusting his
hand into his pocket and bringing out an affluent wallet.

The men straightened up and eyed him coldly. Jim turned indifferently
away and stepped back to the sidewalk. Tom lifted his chin and replied
kindly:

"Why, Mon, it's the _Sawbeth,_ didn't ye know? I'm s'proised at