Hippomobile! by Jeff Tapia

Author:Jeff Tapia
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

“YOU THINK THIS IS IT?”

That’s what everybody was asking everybody else that whole afternoon at Mabel’s. And then they’d go passing it around careful as caution from one palm to the next, with everyone getting a good look at it before handing it on. “You think this is it?”

And the whole thing was that ain’t no one had a clue. Alls we did know was that it was an odd-looking critter, something like a cross between a caterpillar, a corkscrew, and a fishing hook. And we also knew that we ain’t ever seen nothing like it before, neither. But that was about all we knew. That, and that Pops would be the only one who could supply us with a definitive answer, since Grandpa Buster, who used to own the auto parts store, was no longer with us. But Pops hadn’t called yet, so everybody at Mabel’s was left to speculating. We listened close to what our grandmas and grandpas had to say on the matter while we sat in our booth sucking on the double black cows1 that Grandma Ida had been nice enough to supply us with.

“This really could be it.”

“Heck, could be.”

“It ain’t no hairpin, that’s for sure.”

“Just think if that hippomobile gets up ’n’ runnin’ again.”

“Sure would be somethin’, wouldn’t it?”

“Sure would.”

“Heck, maybe it really could save Mabel’s.”

“Would be nice. Been eatin’ here my livelong days, after all.”

“Don’t I knows it.”

“Sure would hate to see Mabel’s go.”

“If Mabel’s goes, so does Wymore.”

“Can’t let that happen.”

“We just need more people comin’ to town, is what we need.”

“The more people come, the more people’ll eat at Mabel’s.”

“We done know that much. That’s what them kids was talkin’ about yesterday.”

“I guess they was, wasn’t they?”

“Maybe we just wasn’t listenin’ that good.”

“Well, then, listen now. ’Cause if we’re fixin’ the hippomobile, why not fix up Wymore with it?”

“Now we’re thinkin’!”

“Don’t know about you, but I been thinkin’ for over seventy years now.”

“I for one wouldn’t mind takin’ a wet rag to them clunkers out there. Put some shine back in ’em.”

“I guess I could pump up a tire or two.”

“And how about fixin’ the sign up on the Any while we’re at it? Have it spell out ‘Stanley’ again?”

“I still got the T somewheres.”

“I got the L. Little rusty. But I gots it.”

And so on and so on. They were getting so excited that they didn’t even tell us not to slurp our black cows. All it had taken was some dogged determination and a little old dingsbums. If indeed that’s what it was. We were still waiting impatient for Pops to call.

Then sudden as a rooster crow, the pay phone on the wall rang, and everyone at Mabel’s hushed as though a preacher just stood up. We left our booth fast as jackrabbits and ran to the phone and climbed up on a chair and picked it up and said, “Mabel’s Café. How may we help you?”

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