There were limousines, sedans, sport cars,--and they all carried suitcases and canvas rolls and bundles draped over the hoods, on the fenders and piled high on the running boards.
Sometimes he would find it necessary to remove a thousand pounds or so of ill-wrapped bedding from the back of a tonneau before he could get at the gas tank to fill it, but Casey never grumbled.

He merely retied the luggage with a packer's hitch that would take the greenhorn through his whole vocabulary before he untied it that night, and he would add two bits to the price of the gas because his time belonged to Bill, and Bill expected Casey's time to be paid for by the public.
One day when it was so hot that even Casey was limp and pale from the heat, and the proprietor of the Oasis had forsaken the strip of shade on his porch and had chased his dog out of the dirt hollow it had scratched under the house and had crawled under there himself, a party pulled slowly up to the garage and stopped.

Casey was inside sitting on the ground and letting the most recently filled water bag drip down the back of his neck.
He shouted to Juan, but Juan had gone somewhere to find himself a cool spot for his siesta, so Casey got slowly to his feet and went out to meet Trouble, sopping his wet hair against the back of his head with the flat of his hand before he put on his hat.

He squinted into the sunshine and straightway squared himself for business.
This was a two-ton truck fitted for camping.

A tall, lean man whose overalls hung wide from his suspenders and did not seem to touch his person anywhere, climbed out and stood looking at the bare rims of two wheels, as if he had at that moment discovered them.
"Thinkin' about the price uh tires, stranger ?" Casey grinned cheerfully.
"It's lucky I got your size, at that.