“No, not a coupé. A roadster.”
“Roadster, eh?” remarked the old farmer. “That’s one of them there autymobiles with just two seats and a little cupboard in the back, eh?”
“My cousin has one,” observed another member of the group. “He got it secondhand in Bayport. I never could see why he bought the doggone thing, for you can’t take the folks out for a ride in it without havin’ ’em all crowded somethin’ fearful. Give me the old tourin’ car every time.”
“Cain’t say as I agree with you,” returned the old farmer. “What good’s a tourin’ car if you want to haul a load of grain into town. Once of them leetle trucks is the best, I’ve always thought. Then, if you want to go on a picnic or anythin’ the family can all climb in the back. You get the use out of a car like that.”
“Nope. Nothin’ like a tourin’ car.”
“Rank extravagance, buyin’ tourin’ cars,” put in another. “Horse and wagon is good enough for me.”
“That’s what I say,” agreed the fourth.
“What with taxes the way they are—”
“And last year’s crops wasn’t any too good—”
“I tell ye a tourin’ car is the only thing nowadays—”
Somewhat astonished by the sudden turn the argument had taken, Frank vainly tried to make himself heard above the uproar.
“But about this roadster?” he asked. “Did any of you see it?”
But the four men in the field were not listening. Instead they were deep in a highly complicated argument regarding the faults and merits of various makes of cars and they paid no further attention to the youth.