That was the only reason he tinkered, so he wouldn’t have to sit around the house, every Saturday he called in someone to help him, preferably a worker from the brewery but sometimes just an ordinary fellow he happened to meet in the little town. First he disassembled his motorcycle engine, then his car engine, and after midnight he put everything back together again, he tried to convince his helpers of the beauty and charm of an engine, enthusiastically explaining each and every part, the workers would listen respectfully, but their minds were elsewhere, at home, in the pub, each of them resolved firmly that this would be the last time he ever helped Francin with his tinkering, and in this way Francin, one by one and with great enthusiasm, got all the maltsters and all the coopers, all the simple and trustworthy people of the little town, to work for him, he couldn’t stand people who read books, who meant something in the little town. He liked the simple man, who listened respectfully or at least pretended to be as passionate about car parts as he was.
What do You think about Harlequin's Millions (2014)?
