There is no heart in the rubber trust; merely a business office that employs very efficient bookkeepers, who are paid to see that others pay.

He removed the new tires; that was his duty to Bill.

By then it was five o'clock when all good mechanics throw down their pliers and begin to shed their coveralls.
Casey was his own man after five o'clock.

He rolled the tattered tires out into the sunlight, let out the air and yanked them from their rims.

"Come on here and help, and I'll patch up your old tires so you c'n go on," he offered good-naturedly, in spite of the things the woman had said to him.
"The tire don't live that Casey can't patch if it comes to a showdown." Before he was through with them he had donated four blow-out patches to the cause, and about five hours of hard labor.