“Well, sir, there’s the thing.” Goodman leaned back upon the bar, a picture of ease and confidence. The position made his shoulders strain at the seams of his checked shirt and displayed his chest to full advantage. Arthur took a hasty gulp of his pint and spluttered slightly as a little of it went down the wrong way. “She’s going to be needing a new fan belt.”
“But you can get one, yes?”
Goodman nodded slowly, giving Arthur a considering look. “Well, sir, there’s two ways we might go about this. I can fix her up all right—you might have done so yourself, sir, if you’d been the sort of gentleman as might happen to have a lady’s stocking about his person—and you’d be on your way in a jiffy, but with no guarantee you wouldn’t be having another breakdown ten mile down the road. Or,” he paused significantly, “I can send a wire off to town tomorrow and set her up proper. If you don’t mind biding with us a while longer.”