Busted. Smashed.
Ambrose nodded violently, gratefully
Yes, he said, I met with an accident. I'm hunting a garage.
I'd just as lief go back and pull you down, the young man offered.
Ambrose hastened to object to this friendly proposal.
It's too bad for that! he cried. We'd never get the car down. I lost three wheels, he concluded desperately.
Whew! The driver whistled his astonishment. I'd like to see that. I'd just as lief drive back.
The fact is, Ambrose protested, mopping his brow, I'm in a hurry. . . . Got to attend to some business before I go back for the car. I'm late now.
The driver was obviously disappointed.
All right, he replied in a tone somewhat colder than that which he had previously employed, I'll get you down the hill in no time.
They drove along. Presently the milkman again addressed Ambrose: You came out pretty well. . . . He was inspecting Ambrose closely. . . . Not even a scratch. I don't see how you could lose three wheels without getting mussed up a little.
