J. Cunningham, sitting in his white Locomobile peering back at whisps of steam seeping from the brass exhaust pipes beneath its rear boiler compartment. “Mister Cunningham.” “Gillom! I could use a little assistance, young man. This automobile stalls sometimes, trying to get up hills. If you could help me push, turn her around, I can coast back down to town.” Gillom went to the back of the boiler compartment, while the driver in his seersucker suit yanked the metal tiller hard to the right, turning the forty-spoke bicycle tires in front to the left. The wooden car body weighed about seven hundred pounds, plus the two passengers, so the teenager had to put his shoulder to the frame as the banker released the band brake under his foot. It was difficult for Gillom’s boots to get traction in the dirt, so the driver hopped off and helped push against the dashboard from the right-hand side. “Is it in gear?” asked Gillom. “No, in neutral.” Together they got the vehicle turned sideways, but Cunningham had to jump back in to hit the brake and stop his automobile from rolling into a ditch across the road.
