soon?"
"Seems so” said Frank carefully. He gave his brother a warning glance not to say anything more, just in case the storekeeper wasn't talking about them, but about their doubles.
Joe nodded almost imperceptibly. He got the message. "What happened, your car break down?" said the storekeeper. "I told you that old heap couldn't be trusted when I filled it up with gas yesterday. You should have listened to me and taken my price for it and that car rental deal I offered you."
"Yeah, I have to admit, you were right," said Frank, thinking fast. "It gave up the ghost just ten miles from here. Some local farmer bought it for junk and put us up in his barn for the night. As soon as it got light, we hiked back here to take you up on that car rental."
The storekeeper looked the Hardy boys over and said, "A little ten-mile stroll, and you boys are sweating like that? Why, when I was your age, I could do that without breathing hard. Trouble with young folks today, you don't take care of yourselves. "
"Right," said Joe, grinning. "I plan to turn over a new leaf. But at the moment, I'm not in shape to make it home by foot. About that car rental you mentioned?”
"Come with me," said the storekeeper, getting out of his rocking chair.
He led them out of the general store and down the single main street of the tiny town. They reached a car rental agency, and the storekeeper unlocked its front door and ushered them inside. Then he put on a cap with lettering that read We Aim to Serve You Better for Less, and said, "Now, what model do you want?" "The fastest you have," said Frank.
“‘Fraid that's going to cost you quite a bit," said the storekeeper. "Now, for a lot less I can give you our special wreck-of-the-week bargain, guaranteed to get you there" or your money back."
"We'll still take the fastest," said Frank.
The storekeeper's face was torn between the pleasure of making a nice profit and the pain of seeing money squandered. "Well, I reckon it's your money," he said with a shrug. "What'll it be, American Express, Visa, or MasterCard?"
"We're paying in cash," Frank said, pulling out a wallet bulging with hundred-dollar and fifty dollar bills.
"Sorry about that," said the storekeeper. “‘Fraid I can't take cash. Against the franchise company's rules."
"Look, we'll pay extra," said Joe, pulling out a stuffed wallet from his pocket.
"Rules are rules," said the storekeeper, shaking his head. Then he looked at the bulging wallets in the Hardy boys' hands while his tongue worked itself thoughtfully around in his mouth. “‘Course, I happen to have a car I just might be willing to sell you. . ."
A half an hour later, the Hardy boys were rolling down the highway in a 1955 Buick Roadmaster, with tail fins that seemed to reach halfway to the sky.
"I hope this will make it to Bayport," said Joe at the wheel, pressing down as hard as he dared on the accelerator.
"Good thing we still have some cash left," Frank pointed out. "We're going to have to stop at every gas station on the way. This car must get about a hundred yards to the gallon."
It was early afternoon and ten refueling stops later, when the car engine wheezed to a stop. But by that time it had done its job. The Hardy boys were just four blocks from home.
They climbed out and pushed the car to the curb. Joe gave it a quick final look. "This baby is going to keep me busy for at least five months."
Just then a voice behind them said, "Man, Joe, don't you ever get enough?"
Frank and Joe turned and saw their pal Chet Morton. He was grinning at them, his mouth stained brown from the chocolate triple-dip ice cream cone in his hand.
"Just this morning you drove by in that ancient station wagon of yours," said Chet. "Now you've got another antique. What you plan to do, open up a museum?" Frank and Joe exchanged quick glances.
"It was a bargain, I couldn't resist it," said Joe. "Hey, you guys want to go to the pizza parlor with me?" asked Chet.
"Some other time,"
"Seems so” said Frank carefully. He gave his brother a warning glance not to say anything more, just in case the storekeeper wasn't talking about them, but about their doubles.
Joe nodded almost imperceptibly. He got the message. "What happened, your car break down?" said the storekeeper. "I told you that old heap couldn't be trusted when I filled it up with gas yesterday. You should have listened to me and taken my price for it and that car rental deal I offered you."
"Yeah, I have to admit, you were right," said Frank, thinking fast. "It gave up the ghost just ten miles from here. Some local farmer bought it for junk and put us up in his barn for the night. As soon as it got light, we hiked back here to take you up on that car rental."
The storekeeper looked the Hardy boys over and said, "A little ten-mile stroll, and you boys are sweating like that? Why, when I was your age, I could do that without breathing hard. Trouble with young folks today, you don't take care of yourselves. "
"Right," said Joe, grinning. "I plan to turn over a new leaf. But at the moment, I'm not in shape to make it home by foot. About that car rental you mentioned?”
"Come with me," said the storekeeper, getting out of his rocking chair.
He led them out of the general store and down the single main street of the tiny town. They reached a car rental agency, and the storekeeper unlocked its front door and ushered them inside. Then he put on a cap with lettering that read We Aim to Serve You Better for Less, and said, "Now, what model do you want?" "The fastest you have," said Frank.
“‘Fraid that's going to cost you quite a bit," said the storekeeper. "Now, for a lot less I can give you our special wreck-of-the-week bargain, guaranteed to get you there" or your money back."
"We'll still take the fastest," said Frank.
The storekeeper's face was torn between the pleasure of making a nice profit and the pain of seeing money squandered. "Well, I reckon it's your money," he said with a shrug. "What'll it be, American Express, Visa, or MasterCard?"
"We're paying in cash," Frank said, pulling out a wallet bulging with hundred-dollar and fifty dollar bills.
"Sorry about that," said the storekeeper. “‘Fraid I can't take cash. Against the franchise company's rules."
"Look, we'll pay extra," said Joe, pulling out a stuffed wallet from his pocket.
"Rules are rules," said the storekeeper, shaking his head. Then he looked at the bulging wallets in the Hardy boys' hands while his tongue worked itself thoughtfully around in his mouth. “‘Course, I happen to have a car I just might be willing to sell you. . ."
A half an hour later, the Hardy boys were rolling down the highway in a 1955 Buick Roadmaster, with tail fins that seemed to reach halfway to the sky.
"I hope this will make it to Bayport," said Joe at the wheel, pressing down as hard as he dared on the accelerator.
"Good thing we still have some cash left," Frank pointed out. "We're going to have to stop at every gas station on the way. This car must get about a hundred yards to the gallon."
It was early afternoon and ten refueling stops later, when the car engine wheezed to a stop. But by that time it had done its job. The Hardy boys were just four blocks from home.
They climbed out and pushed the car to the curb. Joe gave it a quick final look. "This baby is going to keep me busy for at least five months."
Just then a voice behind them said, "Man, Joe, don't you ever get enough?"
Frank and Joe turned and saw their pal Chet Morton. He was grinning at them, his mouth stained brown from the chocolate triple-dip ice cream cone in his hand.
"Just this morning you drove by in that ancient station wagon of yours," said Chet. "Now you've got another antique. What you plan to do, open up a museum?" Frank and Joe exchanged quick glances.
"It was a bargain, I couldn't resist it," said Joe. "Hey, you guys want to go to the pizza parlor with me?" asked Chet.
"Some other time,"
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