shouldn't start again and take us through the wall at any moment."
After some reflection, as being very careful what he did, Mr. King bent over and opened a crude electric switch, whereat the engine ceased to fume and sputter, wheezed once, and passed slowly out of life.
"Guess there won't be any ride today, Bub," he said apologetically. "The gears aren't working right. I've got to take her insides out and tinker her some more."
"S'all right. I had a fine ride," assured George considerately, estimating with his eye the twenty feet the little wagon had darted crablike. "Say, Mr. King!" he announced with brightening countenance, "when I'm grown up, I'm going to build horseless wagons myself and make a lot of money selling 'em." Then the boyish face brightened still more, and the voice grew exceedingly eager. "Do—do you want to hire a boy right now—a boy that's getting to be a man pretty fast—and let him go to work to help you and learn how to build horseless wagons himself?"
There was such a simple earnestness about this request that it smothered the laugh in Charlie King's throat. "You?" he exclaimed, and took a reinventory of the lad's face, the broad forehead, the large, light-filled, brown eyes, the expression of wistful appeal.
