"Its a car" said Spike, spooning more ice cream into his bowl, "An old
wreck of a thing. Totally useless, but it could be done up?"

"Do you want to clean it?" said Miss Huddy, "It belonged to my
grandfather. He bought it and died a few days later. It's no use to me of
course. I don't drive"

"So what are you going to do with it?"

"Not a thing dear, not a thing. It's a dust-collector"

"I could give it a wash?" said Spike.

"What's the use?" said Miss Huddy, "Clean or dusty, it stays in the shed."

"Do you want to keep it then?" asked Spike. His heart was beating veiy
fast but his face showed no emotion.

"What on earth for? I'd forgotten the thing. If you want it, take it away!
Its just cluttering the shed"

"OK" said Spike.

He gulped the rest of his ice cream down and excused himself.

"I'll just finish the mowing and then go home. I'll see you tomorrow"

"That's fine deary" said Miss Huddy, still smiling very sweetly.

Spike nearly ran to the front door. He forgot his aching arms and legs, he
forgot the sunburn on his face, and he forgot the cuts and bruises and
scratches all over his body. The car was his. He could hardly believe his
luck!

He started the mower again and worked like a demon-possed man. Advance,
retreat, advance, retreat, down the long driveway, and right up to the
gates. The sweat dripped off his face, soaking his shirt, dust and flies
swirled about him, and the afternoon sun burned into his face, but he
didn't notice.

He pushed the motor-mower slowly and wearily back to the shed. He'd never
worked so hard in all his life. He'd never worked altogether all his life
as hard as this. He was totally exhausted. He rode home, trying not to
fall off his bike.

The library was open for two hours every Sunday. Spike was at the doors at
twelve o'clock, waiting for the woman to unlock them.

"Have you got any books on how to start vintage cars?" he asked, as soon
as the door swung back. The woman frowned at his rudeness and led him to