Don't let's be too fussy. Slap paint on all of them and I'll put them
into the package. We aren't selling with a guarantee, what?'
Gareth smiled brilliantly and winked at Jake. 'By the time the
complaints come in, you and I will have moved on and no forwarding
address.' He did not realize that the suggestion was trampling rudely
on Jake's craftsman's pride, until he saw the now familiar stiffening
of the wide shoulders and the colour coming up Jake's neck.
Half an hour later they were still arguing.
'I've got a reputation on three oceans and across seven seas that
I'm not likely to pass up for a couple of pox-ridden old bangers like
these,' shouted Jake, and he kicked the wheel of one of the condemned
vehicles. 'Nobody's ever going to say that Jake Barton sold a bum.'
Gareth had swiftly gained a working knowledge of his man's temper. He
knew instinctively that they were on the very brink of physical
violence and quite suddenly he changed his attitude.
'Listen, old chap. There's no point in shouting at each other-2
'I am not shouting-' roared Jake.
'No, of course not, 'Gareth soothed him. 'I see your point entirely.
Quite right too. I'd feel exactly the same way.' Only slightly
mollified, Jake opened his mouth to protest further, but before sound
passed his lips, Gareth had pressed a long black cheroot between them
and lit it.
'Now let's use what brains God gave us, shall we? Tell me why these
two won't run and what we need to make them do so.' Fifteen minutes
later they were sitting under the sun-flap of Jake's old tent,
drinking iced Tusker, and under Gareth's skilful soothing the
atmosphere was once more one of friendly co-operation.
'A Smith-Bentley carburettor?' Gareth repeated thoughtfully.
'I've tried every possible supplier. The local agent even cabled
Cape Town and Nairobi. We'd have to order one from England eight weeks
delivery, if we are lucky.'
'Look here, old son. I don't mind telling you that this means facing a
fate worse than death but for the good of our mutual venture, I'll do
it.' The Governor of Tanganyika had a daughter who was a spinster of
thirty-two years, this despite her father's large fortune and respected
title.
Gareth glanced sideways at her and saw all too clearly why this should
be. The first adjective which sprang to mind was 'horsey', but it was
not the correct one, Gareth decided.
'Comely'or'camel-like' would convey a much more accurate description.
A besotted camel, he thought, as he intercepted the adoring gaze which
she fixed upon him as she sat sideways upon the luxurious leather
seats.
'Jolly good of you to let me take your Pater's bus for a spin, old
girl. And she simpered at the endearment, exposing the huge yellowish
teeth under the large nose.
A V A 'Definitely thinking of buying one myself, when I get home.
Can't beat the old Benters, what?' Gareth swung the long black
limousine off the metal led road and it plunged forward smoothly over
the dusty rutted track that led northwards along the coast through the
