He told Marie other things, and in return, Marie informed him that he
was just a big-mouthed, lazy brute, and she could curse the day she ever
met him. That was going pretty far. Bud reminded her that she had not
done any cursing at the time, being in his opinion too busy roping him
in to support her.
By that time he had gulped down his coffee, and was into his coat,
and looking for his hat. Marie, crying and scolding and rocking the
vociferous infant, interrupted herself to tell him that she wanted a
ten-cent roll of cotton from the drug store, and added that she hoped
she would not have to wait until next Christmas for it, either. Which
bit of sarcasm so inflamed Bud's rage that he swore every step of the
way to Santa Clara Avenue, and only stopped then because he happened to
meet a friend who was going down town, and they walked together.
At the drug store on the corner of Second Street Bud stopped and bought
the cotton, feeling remorseful for some of the things he had said to
Marie, but not enough so to send him back home to tell her he was sorry.
He went on, and met another friend before he had taken twenty steps.
This friend was thinking of buying a certain second-hand automobile that
was offered at a very low price, and he wanted Bud to go with him and
look her over. Bud went, glad of the excuse to kill the rest of the
forenoon.
They took the car out and drove to Schutzen Park and back. Bud opined
that she didn't bark to suit him, and she had a knock in her cylinders
that shouted of carbon. They ran her into the garage shop and went deep
into her vitals, and because she jerked when Bud threw her into second,
Bud suspected that her bevel gears had lost a tooth or two, and was
eager to find out for sure.
Bill looked at his watch and suggested that they eat first before they
got all over grease by monkeying with the rear end. So they went to the
nearest restaurant and had smothered beefsteak and mashed potato and
coffee and pie, and while they ate they talked of gears and carburetors
and transmission and ignition troubles, all of which alleviated
temporarily Bud's case of cabin fever and caused him to forget that he
was married and had quarreled with his wife and had heard a good many
unkind things which his mother-in-law had said about him.
By the time they were back in the garage and had the grease cleaned out
of the rear gears so that they could see whether they were really burred
or broken, as Bud had suspected, the twinkle was back in his eyes, and
the smiley quirk stayed at the corners of his mouth, and when he was not
talking mechanics with Bill he was whistling. He found much lost motion
and four broken teeth, and he was grease to his eyebrows--in other
words, he was happy.