Her Father's Daughter. Stratton-Porter GeneЧитать онлайн книгу.
and finding it dry and hard, she gave it a bath of olive oil and wiped and manipulated it. She cleaned the engine with extreme care. At one minute she was running to Katy for kerosene to pour through the engine to loosen the carbon. At another she was telephoning for the delivery of oil, gasoline, and batteries for which she had no money to pay, so she charged them to Eileen, ordering the bill to be sent on the first of the month. It seemed to her that she had only a good start when Katy came after her.
The business of appraising the furniture was short, and Linda was well satisfied with the price she was offered for it. After the man had gone she showed Katy the pieces she had marked to dispose of, and told her when they would be called for. She ate a few bites of lunch while waiting for the book man, and the results of her business with him quite delighted Linda. She had not known that the value of books had risen with the price of everything else. The man with whom she dealt had known her father. He had appreciated the strain in her nature which made her suggest that he should number and appraise the books, but she must be allowed time to go through each volume in order to remove any scraps of paper or memoranda which her father so frequently left in books to which he was referring. He had figured carefully and he had made Linda a far higher price than could have been secured by a man. As the girl went back to her absorbing task in the garage, she could see her way clear to the comforts and conveniences and the material that she needed for her work. When she reached the car she patted it as if it had been a living creature.
“Cheer up, nice old thing,” she said gaily. “I know how to get new tires for you, and you shall drink all the gasoline and oil your tummy can hold. Now let me see. What must I do next? I must get you off your jacks; and oh, my gracious there are the grease cups, and that's a nasty job, but it must be done; and what is the use of Saturday if I can't do it? Daddy often did.”
Linda began work in utter absorption. She succeeded in getting the car off the jacks. She was lying on her back under it, filling some of the most inaccessible grease cups, and she was softly singing as she worked:
“The shoes I wear are common-sense shoes—”
At that minute Donald Whiting swung down the street, turned in at the Strong residence, and rang the bell. Eileen was coming down the stairs, dressed for the street. She had inquired for Linda, and Katy had told her that she thought Miss Linda had decided to begin using her car, and that she was in the garage working on it. To Eileen's credit it may be said that she had not been told that a caller was expected. Linda never before had had a caller and, as always, Eileen was absorbed in her own concerns. Had she got the rouge a trifle brighter on one cheek than on the other? Was the powder evenly distributed? Would the veil hold the handmade curls in exactly the proper place? When the bell rang her one thought might have been that some of her friends were calling for her. She opened the door, and when she learned that Linda was being asked for, it is possible that she mistook the clean, interesting, and well-dressed youngster standing before her for a mechanic. What she said was: “Linda's working on her car. Go around to the left and you will find her in the garage, and for heaven's sake, get it right before you let her start out, for we've had enough horror in this family from motor accidents.”
Then she closed the door before him and stood buttoning her gloves; a wicked and malicious smile spreading over her face.
“Just possibly,” she said, “that youngster is from a garage, but if he is, he's the best imitation of the real thing that I have seen in these chaotic days.”
Donald Whiting stopped at the garage door and looked in, before Linda had finished her grease cups, and in time to be informed that he might wear common-sense shoes if he chose. At his step, Linda rolled her black head on the cement floor and raised her eyes. She dropped the grease cup, and her face reddened deeply.
“Oh, my Lord!” she gasped breathlessly. “I forgot to tell Katy when to call me!”
In that instant she also forgot that the stress of the previous four years had accustomed men to seeing women do any kind of work in any kind of costume; but soon Linda realized that Donald Whiting was not paying any particular attention either to her or to her occupation. He was leaning forward, gazing at the car with positively an enraptured expression on his eager young face.
“Shades of Jehu!” he cried. “It's a Bear Cat!”
Linda felt around her head for the grease cup.
“Why, sure it's a Bear Cat,” she said with the calmness of complete recovery. “And it's just about ready to start for its very own cave in the canyon.”
Donald Whiting pitched his hat upon the seat, shook off his coat, and sent it flying after the hat. Then he began unbuttoning and turning back his sleeves.
“Here, let me do that,” he said authoritatively. “Gee! I have never yet ridden in a Bear Cat. Take me with you, will you, Linda?”
“Sure,” said Linda, pressing the grease into the cup with a little paddle and holding it up to see if she had it well filled. “Sure, but there's no use in you getting into this mess, because I have only got two more. You look over the engine. Did you ever grind valves, and do you think these need it?”
“Why, they don't need it,” said Donald, “if they were all right when it was jacked up.”
“Well, they were,” said Linda. “It was running like a watch when it went to sleep. But do we dare take it out on these tires?”
“How long has it been?” asked Donald, busy at the engine.
“All of four years,” answered Linda.
Donald whistled softly and started a circuit of the car, kicking the tires and feeling them.
“Have you filled them?” he asked.
“No,” said Linda. “I did not want to start the engine until I had finished everything else.”
“All right,” he said, “I'll look at the valves first and then, if it is all ready, there ought to be a garage near that we can run to carefully, and get tuned up.”
“There is,” said Linda. “There is one only a few blocks down the street where Dad always had anything done that he did not want to do himself.”
“That's that, then,” said Donald.
Linda crawled from under the car and stood up, wiping her hands on a bit of waste.
“Do you know what tires cost now?” she asked anxiously.
“They have 'em at the garage,” answered Donald, “and if I were you, I wouldn't get a set; I would get two. I would-put them on the rear wheels. You might be surprised at how long some of these will last. Anyway, that would be the thing to do.”
“Of course,” said Linda, in a relieved tone. “That would be the thing to do.”
“Now,” she said, “I must be excused a few minutes till I clean up so I am fit to go on the streets. I hope you won't think I forgot you were coming.”
Donald laughed drily.
“When 'shoes' was the first word I heard,” he said, “I did not for a minute think you had forgotten.”
“No, I didn't forget,” said Linda. “What I did do was to become so excited about cleaning up the car that I let time go faster than I thought it could. That was what made me late.”
“Well, forget it!” said Donald. “Run along and jump into something, and let us get our tires and try Kitty out.”
Linda reached up and released the brakes. She stepped to one side of the car and laid her hands on it.
“Let us run it down opposite the kitchen door,” she said, “then you go around to the front, and I'll let you in, and you can read something a few minutes till I make myself presentable.”
“Oh, I'll stay out here and look around the yard and go over the car again,” said the boy. “What a bunch of stuff you have got growing here; I don't believe I ever saw