I motored over from the camp and stopped at the telegraph office.

When I came out my car refused to go; the self-starter appears to have gone on a strike.

I had left my crank at the camp and my only hope seemed to be to buy or borrow one somewhere.

I asked the two or three fellows standing about the telegraph office where I might be likely to find one.

No one seemed to know, but just then the old grouch--excuse me, person who keeps the hardware store came along." "Eh?
Phin Babbitt?
Little man with the stub of a paint brush growin' on his chin ?" "Yes, that's the one.