Strolling towards the Model
Garage, his jacket flung over one arm, Gus Wilson looked up at the early-morning
sky, cloudless but hazy - a promise of Indian summer after a premature cold
snap.
"Hope it holds for the barn
dance," he mused, catching sight of the pile of pumpkins Stan Hicks, his
assistant, had arranged in front of the pumps. Stuck in the center was a sign,
"Are You Squared Away for the Square Dance? Get Your Tickets Here." At the
bottom sprawled a young man, his crew-cut head pillowed between two pumpkins.
"Hi," Stan greeted his boss.
"Look what I found when I opened up this morning." He pointed to a big, new,
shiny car parked off to one side, and then to the sleeping figure. Gus
recognized Steve Jenkins.
"What's young Jenkins sleeping
off?" he asked. "Thought he was off to college."
"Home for the holidays," Stan
said, "and for the barn dance - I guess."
"You guess?" Gus draped his
jacket over a pump standard. "What's the story?"
Stan shook his head. "He was
here when I arrived. Said he'd been up all night trying to find something wrong
with his father's new car. Then he asked for you and fell asleep, like you'd see
him there."
The kid had busted something
and was afraid to bring the car home, Gus figured. "Check the car?" he asked
Stan.
"First thing," Stan answered.
"Nothing wrong; it runs like a dream. I'll show you." He slipped behind the
wheel, turned the ignition key and stepped on the starter. The engine purred.
"Mr. Wilson!" It was Steve,
getting to his feet. "I'm in trouble, Mr. Wilson, real trouble."
"Not car trouble," Gus said.
"If I remember, you were top man in auto mechanics back in high school, Steve.
Listen to that engine."
"That's just it, Mr. Wilson.
There must be something wrong." His young voice hit a falsetto. "There has to
be."
"Your dad know you took his
car?"
"Oh, sure. It's not my father
that's after me - it's hers, Cathy's."
"Cathy McShane?"
Steve nodded. "He said he'd
blast me with a shotgun if I ever came out to his farm again."
"If Bert McShane said that, he
must have had a reason."
"Well, not really, Mr. Wilson.
You see . . ."
The story came tumbling out. He
had taken Cathy to a movie and on the way back the car had stalled. Instead of
walking the girl home, Steve had been eager to show off his mechanical skill. He
had practically taken the engine apart without finding anything wrong. Then
Cathy, who had been sitting behind the wheel, had stepped on the starter, and
the engine caught. But by that time it was after midnight, and Bert McShane, who
was waiting up for them, blew his top.
"And now," Steve finished,
"when Mr. McShane learns from my dad - they got a business deal on - that
there's nothing wrong with the car he'll really come after me with a shotgun."
"It's not that bad," Gus said.
"That's what you think, Mr.
Wilson. But you see, Cathy let slip where the car conked out - Lookout Point."
Gus nodded sympathetically.
Lookout Point was the local lovers' lane. That wouldn't sit well with the father
of any pretty teen-age girl.
"The car did stop last night,
honest, Mr. Wilson."
"I believe you, Steve," Gus
said. "Wait till I get my toolbox and we'll take a spin. Maybe your gremlin will
show up again."
They were barely out of town,
with Gus at the wheel, when the car suddenly died.
"That's just what happened last
night," Steve said. He watched as Gus ran the starter. Each time he returned the
key from the START position to ON, the engine died.
"Get me a jumper wire out of my
toolbox, Steve, and we'll get her started and back to the shop."
"Any ideas, Mr. Wilson?" Steve
asked as he handed over the wire.
"I'm not sure," Gus said as he
hooked the jumper wire between the battery and the ignition terminal of the
coil. "But I suspect that you've got an intermittent open in the ignition
circuit."
Steve looked puzzled. "Guess I
better brush up on my auto mechanics."
"You see," Gus went on, "this
car has a voltage-dropping resistor in the ignition circuit to drop the ignition
low voltage from 12 volts to about 7.5 volts. The starter solenoid engages a
separate circuit, direct from the battery to the coil, to feed a full 12 volts
for starting. That's probably why the engine runs on the START position yet
stops when I return the key to ON."
"Maybe a rough spot in the road
shook something loose in the regular ignition circuit?"
"Could be," Gus said. "Might be
a faulty ignition switch or maybe a broken resistor winding. Anyway, you
probably jogged something back into contact while you worked on it at Lookout
Point last night."
Steve was silent on the trip
back.
"Cheer up, Steve," Gus said as
they pulled up in front of the Model Garage. "At least we'll find the trouble so
that your father won't have a breakdown and blame you for mistreating his new
car."
"It's not that, Mr. Wilson.
Even if I can prove now that I wasn't lying to Cathy's dad, I'd never be able to
get him to hear me out. Cathy is a swell girl, and we had a date to go to the
barn dance Saturday night. That's off, I guess." He sighed and got out of the
car.
Gus, knowing better than to
offer sympathy, began checking the ignition circuit from battery to switch with
a voltmeter. Then he checked voltage at both sides of the resistor. No amount of
jiggling could make the meter hand waver.
Scratching his head, Gus looked
at Steve and said, "It can't be open between the output side of the resistor and
the coil. That wire is common to the starting circuit and the normal ignition."
Steve had noted each check.
"Maybe this is pretty stupid, Mr. Wilson, but you checked on the wire end
terminals at the resistor. Could there be a cold-solder joint or something,
inside the double-wire plastic terminal at the output side of the resistor? I
built a radio once that wouldn't work because of a cold-solder joint."
"You may just be right, Steve."
Gus dug for his pocket knife.
He sliced the plastic coating
from the terminal, exposing an unsoldered wire that missed connection by a few
thousandths of an inch.
They looked at each other and
grinned.
"This setup to provide 12 volts
for starting is pretty keen," Steve remarked as Gus repaired the unsoldered wire
end.
"Particularly for cold-weather
starts," Gus agreed. "But it can be dangerous. With what amounts to two ignition
circuits, one for starting, and one for running, the engine can run even with
the switch off. Be sure the car is out of gear when you're working on it."
"Thanks, Mr. Wilson - and
thanks for the safety tip." Looking at his watch, he added, "Gee whiz, I have to
run. Dad will be needing the car."
"Wait a minute, Steve. I'll put
this on your father's account, but let me give you a receipted repair bill.
Maybe it will help you get back into the good graces of Cathy's dad."
"It will take a miracle if I'm
ever to see her again," the boy replied glumly.
As Gus drove down the road that
passed the neat McShane farm, he spotted Bert mending a fence. Pulling the choke
on his service car full out, Gus waited for the engine to cough, sputter and
die. Then he got out, opened the hood and looked under.
"Hey, Gus," McShane called.
"Want me to call a wrecker?"
"No, thanks, Bert. Guess I can
fix the old clunker. Sure have had it long enough to be on to her quirks. It's
those fancy new cars that develop unpredictable troubles."
"Yeah?" McShane bit.
"Yep." Gus closed the hood and
wiped his brow. "Why just today some kid brought his dad's spanking new '58
model into the shop.
The boy was out on a date last
night when it stopped on him for no reason. After he monkeyed with it for quite
a while it ran fine. We took it out on a rough road and didn't get a mile before
it stopped the same way. Real tricky. Turned out to be a bad connection someone
had made at the factory."
"Is that a fact?" McShane
commented.
"Well, I'd better go now and
let you get on with your job. Mightly important job that, Bert - mending
fences."
"Yeah, Gus."
The sound of music and laughter
came from the big red barn as Gus drove up that Saturday night. He parked and
handed a ticket to Stan Hicks at the door. A couple danced by, waving to him. It
was Steve Jenkins and Cathy McShane, decked out in blue jeans and gingham.
Gus waved back as he walked
over to a refreshment table where Mrs. McShane was chatting with Steve Jenkins'
parents. "Where's Bert?" he asked.
"Right here, Gus," came
McShane's voice from behind. "Drop in to remind me again how important it is to
mend fences?"
"No, Bert. Just happened to
hear the music and couldn't resist it."
"Sure - 'just happened.'"
McShane winked. "Like your service car 'just happened' to quit as you passed my
farm?"
Gus grinned sheepishly.
END
