"Seems to me," he observed, "I did see a car come by here a while ago."
"A yellow car?"
"No—twan't a yeller car. It was a delivery truck, if I remember rightly."
Frank strove to conceal his impatience.
"It was a roadster I was asking about. A yellow roadster."
"Not one of them there coops, hey?" asked the oldest man in the group doubtfully.
"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."
