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Updated: June 27, 2025
"Oh sure, that's just what I told him," the speaker continued; "steal up " "Step on it," the other interrupted, "we're out in the country now." The big super six Hunkajunk car darted forward and Scout Harris could hear the purring of the big engine as the machine sped along through the solemn darkness.
For one thing it was of a rich shade of blue, whereas, the inhabitants of Bridgeboro being for the most part dead, their favorite color in autos was black. The car, indeed, was the latest super six Hunkajunk touring model, a vision of grace and colorful beauty, set of with trimmings of shiny nickel.
The Hunkajunk people had outdone themselves in this latest model and had produced "the car of a thousand delights." That seemed a good many, but that is the number they announced, and surely they must have known. When one sat in the soft, spacious rear seat of the Hunkajunk touring model, one felt the sensation of sinking into a what shall I say? One had a sort of sinking spell.
Two men in khaki, but without any pistols in their belts, rode slowly up to the front of the Lyric Theatre in a big blue touring car and stopped. It was one of those palatial cars "of a thousand delights," a new super six Hunkajunk touring model.
In nine cases out of ten it would have required more effort to start the Hunkajunk touring model. But this was the tenth case. In a frantic effort to stop the power, or perhaps in groping with his hand, he pulled down the spark lever, and the six cylinder brute of an engine awoke to life!
"Maybe you don't believe me but it's true," Pee-wee said. "Do you know how to run a car?" "Anything from a flivver up," said the stranger. "Shh," said Pee-wee, "this one is away, way up. It's a super six Hunkajunk, it belongs to a man where I live, in Bridgeboro, New Jersey." "Well, what are you doing here?" the manual training teacher asked. "I was kind of kidnapped accidentally.
"He has a license; now are you all satisfied?" They saw that under his persistent good nature he was worried and preoccupied, and like the good scouts they were, they said no more about going. They knew the pride he took in his Hunkajunk auto. They knew that his one thought was of that now. Yet Scoutmaster Ned Garrison's sense of humor was ever ready, even in anxiety or disappointment.
So the algebra was of some use in the world after all; Algernon Kirkendall was a scout without knowing it. "S.N. thinks more of that new car than he does of the troop," said Fido. "Sure, the car don't give him as much trouble," said Nick. "We're a Hunkajunk troop and Safety First's troop is a Ford troop; it's small but it makes a lot of noise. If I ever start a troop it will be air-cooled.
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