Tilda and the Gangster 3

"Where we off to again, Fred? It don't seem as though we are making any true progress here. The roads twist and turn around these ol' lakes and swamps and it all looks the same after awhile."

"Ah, well, now Alvin, I do reckon we will be arriving at the summer home by evening. There is no rush. Our business will keep."

This time of year, the roads were sometimes quite impassable. But the spring had come early this year and the snow had melted quickly. The frost came up from the ground by Easter and the frost boils in the roadways were mostly dry. The men were able to travel without too much trouble. Since Fred was driving the '31 DeSoto, Alvin decided to rest his eyes. Fred drove on. And on. And on.

Suddenly the all too familiar thump and rumble of a flat tire disrupted Alvin's slumber. Fred let slip a stream of choice words and then hopped down and started to assemble all his tire changing apparatus.

Alvin soon stumbled out, too, and attempted to shake off his sleep. He offered to help, but Fred suggested Alvin continue ahead on foot to see if there was any help to be found. Fred was more than capable of changing the tire, but he wouldn't turn down the help of a friendly neighbor if it was near at hand.

Alvin sauntered down the road and around the curve. He was soon out of sight behind a thicket of pale green leaves and white spring blossoms. He whistled softly to himself as he moseyed along. Alvin had always enjoyed a spring walk, but in his current occupation, he seldom showed that side of his nature. He wasn't sure Fred and the others would be much taken with spring beauties and fresh air.

After about half a mile of fresh spring air, which as it turned out was quite enough for Alvin, he came upon a farm house set back from the road. The house was gray with age. A fresh washing fluttered on a line. A lilac along the walk was just beginning to waft its fragrance through the air. Alvin approached the house and heard a raucous caterwauling from within.

Ha, ha, ha, you and me,
Little brown jug, don't I love thee!
Ha, ha, ha, you and me,
Little brown jug, don't I love thee!

When he was reaching up to knock on the door, Alvin couldn't help noticing how the picturesque scene outside contrasted with the noise emanating from the interior. Alvin gave a mighty knock hoping to be heard above the racket.

If all the folks in Adam's race
Were gathered together in one place,
I'd let them go without a tear
Before I'd part from you, my dear.

Once again, Alvin reached out and banged on the door, and the crooning suddenly ceased.

"What's that I hear?" croaked the voice from the other side. "Who's there?"

Alvin heard a rhythmic thump and scuffle and the door was yanked open. In the dim interior, Alvin could make out a birdlike lady, well-wrapped in layers against the spring air.  She seemed to teeter precariously over a polished oak walking stick.

"What may you be wanting? There's naught here but I," asked the small lady in a tremendous voice.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but my friend and I, we were out for a drive, and well, you see," began Alvin.

"Speak up, son. What's that you say? A drive? With a carriage, you mean?"

"Well, ma'am, no, we were in an automobile and we got a flat."

"An automobile, you say! And what's this about it being flattened?"

It was a quite lengthy interchange of this style. Alvin politely gave answers to the woman's gravelly voiced questions.  But Alvin finally made her understand the situation.

Mrs. Higgins, for that was the name of the diminutive lady, was eager to see the DeSoto. "Help me harness the team and we'll go out to help," said she. Mrs. Higgins grabbed yet another layer and hobbled to the stable with the ball of her walking stick clutched firmly in her tiny hand.