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Updated: May 24, 2025
In two weeks perhaps it was less, though I want to be perfectly just Casey was back, afoot and standing bow-legged in the doorway of Bill Master's garage at Lund. "Gimme another one of them Ford auty-mo-biles," he requested, grinning a little. "I guess mebby I oughta take two or three but I'm a little short right now, Bill. I ain't been gitting any good luck at poker, lately."
"Gimme one of them dog-goned blankety bing-bing Ford auty-mo-biles," he commanded the garage owner who came to meet Casey amiably in his shirt sleeves. "Here's four horses I'll trade yuh, with what's left of the harness. And up at the third turn you'll find a good wheel off'n the stage."
He examined both cans, "hefted" them, smelt and even tasted the one half-empty, and decided that Ford auty-mo-biles do not require two quarts of syrup at one dose. He thought that a little syrup ought not to make much difference, but half a gallon was probably too much. He put in more oil on top of the syrup, but he could not even move the crank, much less "turn 'er over."
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