He carried the yellow stick and the gloves, and he was prepared
to make all sorts of a nasty row if they tried to tell him the car
wasn't there, or so much as hinted that he might not be the right party.
He knew how to deal with those automobile sharks.
"I believe you have a car here for me--Mr. Bean," he said briskly. It
was the first time in all his life that he had spoken of himself as "Mr.
Bean!" He threw his shoulders back even farther when he had achieved it.
The soiled person whom he addressed merely called to another soiled
person who, near at hand, seemed to be beating an unruly car into
subjection. The second person merely ducked his head backward and over
his right shoulder.
"All right, all right!" said the first person, and then to Bean, "All
right, all right!"
The car was before him, a large, an alarming car--and red! It was as
red as the unworn cravat. Good thing it was getting dark. He wouldn't
like to go out in the daytime in one as red as that, not at first.
He ran his eyes critically over it, trying to look disappointed.
"Good shape?" he demanded.
"How about it, Joe? She all right?"
Joe perceptibly stopped hammering.
"Garrumph-rumph!" he seemed to say.
"Well?" said the first person, eying Bean as if this explained
everything.
"Take a little spin," said Bean.
"Paul!"
Paul issued from the office, a shock-headed, slouching youth in extreme
negligee, a half-burned cigarette dangling from his lower lip.
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