His listeners were limp. After all this they had just got the engine started.

The boy kept at them. “I want you to say after me now so you learn it. Spark up—gas down.”

They repeated in chorus, “Spark up—gas down.”

“Switch to Bat.”

“Switch to Bat.”

“Crank to compression, thumb down.”

“Crank to compression, thumb down.”

“Easy over—choke out.”

“Easy over—choke out.”

“Spin her.”

“Spin her.”

“Spark down—gas up.”

“Spark down—gas up.”

“Switch to Mag.”

“Switch to Mag.”

“Now, we’ll go over her again. Just call me Joe.”

“Just call you Joe.”

“Not that. Spark up—gas down.”

A kind of weariness settled on Adam as they went over the litany for the fourth time. The process seemed silly to him. He was relieved when a short time later Will Hamilton drove up in his low sporty red car. The boy looked at the approaching vehicle. “That-there’s got sixteen valves,” he said in a reverent tone. “Special job.”

Will leaned out of his car. “How’s it going?” he asked.

“Just fine,” said the mechanic. “They catch on quick.”

“Look, Roy, I’ve got to take you in. The new hearse knocked out a bearing. You’ll have to work late to get it ready for Mrs. Hawks at eleven tomorrow.”

Roy snapped to efficient attention. “I’ll get my clos’,” he said and ran for the house. As he tore back with his satchel Cal stood in his way.

“Hey,” Cal said, “I thought your name was Joe.”

“How do you mean, Joe?”

“You told us to call you Joe. Mr. Hamilton says you’re Roy.”

Roy laughed and jumped into the roadster. “Know why I say call me Joe?”

“No. Why?”

“Because my name is Roy.” In the midst of his laughter he stopped and said sternly to Adam, “You get that book under the seat and you study up. Hear me?”

“I will,” said Adam.

Chapter 30

[1]

EVEN AS IN BIBLICAL TIMES, there were miracles on the earth in those days. One week after the lesson a Ford bumped up the main street of King City and pulled to a shuddering stop in front of the post office. Adam sat at the wheel with Lee beside him and the two boys straight and grand in the back seat.

Adam looked down at the floorboards, and all four chanted in unison, “Brake on—advance gas—switch off.” The little engine roared and then stopped. Adam sat back for a moment, limp but proud, before he got out.

The postmaster looked out between the bars of his golden grill. “I see you’ve got one of the damn things,” he said.

“Have to keep up with the times,” said Adam.

“I predict there’ll come a time when you can’t find a horse, Mr. Trask.”

“Maybe so.”

“They’ll change the face of the countryside. They get their clatter into everything,” the postmaster went on. “We even feel it here. Man used to come for his mail once a week. Now he comes every day, sometimes twice a day. He just can’t wait for his damn catalogue. Running around. Always running around.” He was so violent in his dislike that Adam knew he hadn’t bought a Ford yet. It was a kind of jealousy coming out. “I wouldn’t have one around,” the postmaster said, and this meant that his wife was at him to buy one. It was the women who put the pressure on. Social status was involved.