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"I did. Simply because there's nobody else to speak to. Don't happen to know anything about motor-cars, do you?" It was all very icily enunciated, but had no noticeably freezing effect upon the man's mood. "I sure do," he told her cheerfully. "Know 'em from front bumper to tail-lamp. Yours is a Boyd-Merril, Twin Eight, this year's model. Fox-Whiting starting and lighting system.
Boyd-Merril Twin Eight, latest model. And dollars to doughnuts I know just what's wrong and she doesn't!" She ignored him with such a perfect unconsciousness of his presence in the same world with her that he was moved to a keen admiration. "I'll bet her face is as red as a beet, just the same," was his cheerful thought.
The hesitation was brief; he reined his horse impatiently to the left, riding straight toward the flaunting sign upon the lofty false front of the Old Trusty saloon. But short as was his indecision it had not ended before he had glimpsed at the far end of the street the incongruous lines of an automobile red racing type. "Boyd-Merril. Twin Eight," thought Packard.
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