CHAPTER VII. IN THE RED STAR GARAGE.

As soon as Rockwell and Hibbard had disappeared, Jimmie Fortune took rather an abrupt leave of Owen. He walked rapidly in the direction taken by the garage man and the chauffeur, jingling his silver dollars as he went.

“I’ll bet something handsome he’s going to keep an eye on Rockwell and Hibbard,” muttered Clancy. “Those two fellows trouble him a lot more than they do me. Jimmie’s a pretty good sort of a chap, though, if I’m any hand at reading character.”

Truth to tell, Owen had taken a great liking to the irresponsible, happy-go-lucky Jimmie. The wanderer had shown no great capacity for anything but celerity in losing the various jobs which he managed to secure, and yet his oddness and good nature made him likable and a good companion.

Clancy went into the garage and looked around with considerable interest. One corner of the huge room was partitioned off for an office. A couple of young fellows, who looked as though they might be chauffeurs, sat at a table in the office, smoking cigarettes and playing cards.

The interior walls of the garage were painted white, and marked off with perpendicular black lines, six or seven feet apart. Cars of many different makes were berthed between these lines. Other cars were drawn out toward the middle of the floor and workmen were tinkering with them.

In an “L” opening off the rear end of the big room machines were being washed. In another L on the opposite side a sandy-whiskered man was vulcanizing a tire. His face was smudged with oil and grease, but the flame, striking his features sharply, revealed eyes that captured Owen’s confidence.

“You’re the mechanic here?” the new employee asked, approaching the bench where the man was at work.

“You’ve hit it, son,” was the reply.

“I’m going to begin work here to-morrow, and I’m sort of looking around to get an idea of the place.”

The man leaned back against the side of the bench, picked up a pipe, lighted it, and surveyed Clancy thoughtfully through wreaths of smoke.

“Don’t do it,” said he, shaking his head. “I don’t know why in blazes Rockwell is hiring more help, but that’s his business. I suppose it’s none of my business, either, where you work or what you do, but you look to be as square as a die. If that’s the case, then the Red Star Garage is no place for you.”

Clancy was surprised at this bit of advice coming from one of Rockwell’s men. He must have shown how he felt, for the other went on quickly:

“Of course, I’m not yellin’ my advice to you in Rockwell’s ears. What I’m saying to you is strictly on the q. t. If you’ve got a job here, chuck it!”

“But Mr. Rockwell made me an offer, and I accepted it,” returned Clancy.

“Did he say anything to you about ‘tact,’ and all that?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re going into the game with your eyes open. I guess I didn’t read you right.”

“I guess you did,” said Owen. “I won’t stand for the kind of ‘tact’ Rockwell mentioned, and I told him so.”

“Sufferin’ snakes! And then he hired you after that?”

“Yes.”

“I’m by! You must have some kind of a hold on him, I reckon. This garage is a good place for a young fellow to start on the down grade. If you can work here and keep square you’re entitled to a medal. My name is Barton, Andy Barton. In case you bump into anything here where you think a little advice would help, call on me.”

“Much obliged, Andy. My name’s Owen Clancy, and I guess I’m to take hold as one of your helpers.”

“Ever worked with cars any?”

“Not in a garage. This is my first job.”

Andy Barton shook his head gruesomely.

“I reckon I hadn’t better talk to you much, just now,” said he. “The boss will want to do that. There he comes,” and Barton went back to his work.

Clancy looked around, and saw Rockwell just coming into the shop wing of the building.

“Getting the lay of the land, Clancy?” the garage man asked, pleasantly enough.

“Yes,” was the reply. “This looks like a pretty good-sized establishment.”

“There are bigger ones in town, but I don’t think you’ll find any much better. You’ve met Barton? Good! He’ll tell you what to do when you show up for work in the morning. Of course,” he added, as Owen strolled away with him, “there are a lot of cars stored here that are looked after by the owners themselves. We get six dollars a month for space between two of those black lines. The rent, along with the sale of gasoline and oil, is about all the revenue we get from that class of customers. It’s the big bugs, like Judge Pembroke, who make the business worth while.”

He opened a door at the rear of the big room and ushered Owen into a small apartment equipped with a bunk, washstand, and chair, and having a single window for light and air.

“My night man’s name is Pruitt,” continued Rockwell. “He takes care of the business during the off hours. Occasionally--not very often--he is rushed, and needs help. That’s why I want you to sleep in this room, Clancy, and I wish you’d sleep here to-night.”

“If Pruitt has much for me to do,” said Owen, “I can see where I’m not going to be of much help to Barton.”

“You may never be routed out during the night, but I want some one around in case Pruitt has to leave the garage with a car. You’ll show up here this evening?”

“Yes.”

“All right, I’ll depend on you. I’ll tell the helper, who has been sleeping here, that he can begin berthing at home. Give me faithful service, Clancy, and I’ll see that your wages are raised from time to time. I reckon that will be all. You’d better go and hunt your supper. Where’s your baggage?”

“I’ve got a grip coming over from Tempe on the stage.”

“Why didn’t you bring it with you?”

“Because I walked to save stage fare.”

Rockwell stared, and whistled.

“Your old man must be pretty badly crimped, if you had to do that,” he remarked. “Show up here at eight o’clock. You’ll not be on duty, you understand, except in case you’re needed. You can turn in at eight, or light up and read, or spend your time in the office--please yourself about that. Report to Barton in the morning.”

Clancy went away to find a place where he could get his supper. As he went, he wondered a little why it was necessary for the proprietor of such a prosperous establishment to take so much time getting together a thousand dollars.

“I guess Rockwell’s a bandit, all right,” he muttered, “but I’m going to be on my guard and see that he doesn’t get the better of me. That note is a thing he can’t dodge, and I’m going to keep it right in my hands until he takes it up.”

Clancy found a modest restaurant in Washington Street where the food was good and prices reasonable. Although it was still early in the evening, the electric lights were sparkling up and down the business thoroughfare as he came out of the short-order place.

He felt like a stranger in a strange land, and would have given a good deal for the companionship of Jimmie Fortune just then. Never before had he been so impressed with the responsibilities that had been heaped upon his shoulders, and he was hungry for a little friendly talk--and Fortune was his only friend in that big town.

In better and happier times, the money represented by that note of Rockwell’s would have had small bearing on the fortunes of the Clancys. But now, with his father sick and his financial affairs gone to wreck and ruin, a thousand dollars was a lot of money. Clancy had been told that collecting the amount of that note from Rockwell was a hopeless undertaking, that the garage man would exercise every resource of an unscrupulous nature to get out of paying. So he had been surprised and pleased when promised the money in a week or two.

Perhaps--he told himself--Rockwell wasn’t so bad, after all. He appeared to want to do the square thing, and maybe he was not so prosperous as he seemed, and would have to hustle a little to get the money to take up his note.

“I’ll wait on him,” murmured Clancy, “and while I’m waiting I’ll be earning something and getting a start in this garage business. The Clancys are about due for a run of luck, and maybe this is where it starts.”

The big clock on the courthouse in the plaza was booming the hour of eight as Clancy got back to the Red Star Garage. At that time there was not much doing about the place, and Clancy passed through the wide doors and made his way to the rear room. A man--Pruitt, no doubt--was smoking a pipe in the office. Clancy did not stop to speak with him, but went directly to his own quarters.

He had bought a “jumper,” a pair of overalls, and a pair of gloves. These he took out of the paper in which they were wrapped, and laid them to one side.

“In the morning,” he thought whimsically, “I’ll get into them and begin rooting for the family. I’m going to make good, too, although I wish I was starting out with any other fellow than Rockwell.”

For a long time he sat in that dingy little room, thinking over the past, and trying to forecast the future. There was a man’s work ahead of Owen Clancy, but he faced it with an indomitable spirit. Collecting that note was only the beginning. After that had been accomplished, bigger things lay ahead.

An hour or two passed while he sat in the little room wrapped up in his reflections. Then, suddenly, he heard a sound that caused him to start bolt upright in his chair. Some one was tapping on the window. He turned to look, and saw a face pressed against the glass. It was the face of Jimmie Fortune, and Jimmie had a warning finger laid against his lips.

Clancy got to his feet and slowly approached the window. Fortune motioned upward with his hands, and Clancy carefully raised the sash.

“Somethin’ doin’, pard!” said Fortune, in a husky whisper. “I got to come in and tell you about it. Lock the door over there. I don’t want nobody buttin’ in on us. Make everythin’ tight, and then I’ll crawl in and bat the hull propersition up to you.”

Clancy secured the door, sliding the bolt softly. Meanwhile, Fortune had been climbing into the room. As soon as he was inside, he lowered the sash noiselessly and pulled down the shade.

“What’s the matter, Jimmie?” Owen inquired excitedly.

“I don’t know jest what’s the matter, compadre,” was the guarded response, “but I allow I’ve got the tail end of a whalin’ big mystery. I’ve come to you for help in figgerin’ it out.”