“You’re starting out where there won’t be no Bill handy to fix what you bust,” he pointed out.  “You wait over a day or two, Casey, and let me show yuh a few things about that car.  If you bust down on the desert you’ll want to know what’s wrong, and how to fix it.  It’s easy, but you got to know where to look for the trouble.”

“Me?  Say, Bill, I never had to go lookin’ for trouble,” Casey grinned.  “What do I need to learn how for?”

Nevertheless he remained all of that day with Bill and crammed on mechanics.  He was amazed to discover how many and how different were the ailments that might afflict a Ford.  That he had boldly—­albeit unconsciously—­driven a thing filled with timers, high-tension plugs that may become fouled and fail to “spark,” carburetors that could get out of adjustment (whatever that was) spark plugs that burned out and had to be replaced, a transmission that absolutely must have grease or something happened, bearings that were prone to burn out if they went dry of oil, and a multitude of other mishaps that could happen and did happen if one did not watch out, would have filled Casey with foreboding if that were possible.  Being an optimist to the middle of his bones, he merely felt a growing pride in himself.  He had actually driven all this aggregation of potential internal grief!  Whenever anything had happened to his Ford auty-mo-bile between Pinnacle and Lund, Casey never failed to trace the direct cause, which had always been external rather than internal, save that time when he had walked in and bought a new car without out probing into the vitals of the other.

“I’d ruther have a horse down with glanders,” he sighed, when Bill finally washed the grease off his hands and forearms and rolled down his sleeves.  “But Casey Ryan’s game to try anything once, and most things the second and third time.  You ask anybody.  Gimme all the hootin’-annies that’s liable to wear out, Bill, and a load uh tires and patches, and Casey’ll come back and hand yuh a diamond big as your fist, some day.  Ole Lady Trouble’s always tryin’ to take a fall outa me, but she’s never got me down so’t I had to holler ‘nough.  You ask anybody.  Casey Ryan’s goin’ out to see what he can see.  If he meets up with Miss Fortune, he’ll tame her, Bill.  And this little Ford auty-mo-bile is goin’ to eat outa my hand.  I don’t give a cuss if she does git sore and ram her spark plugs into her carburetor now and agin.  She’ll know who’s boss, Bill.  I learnt it to the burros, and what you can learn a burro you can learn a Ford, take time enough.”

Taking that point of view and keeping it, Casey managed very well.  Whenever anything went wrong that his vocabulary and a monkey wrench could not mend, Casey sat down on the shadiest running board and conned the Instruction Book which Bill handed him at the last minute.  Other times he treated the Ford exactly as he would treat a burro, with satisfactory results.