"Got much work lined up for the
morning, Stan?" asked Gus Wilson, holding the Model Garage phone.
"No, Boss. I finished the
tune-up on Mrs. McQuerry's car while you were out, and she came and got it."
Gus spoke into the phone.
"Okay, bring your car in and
we'll see what we can do."
He hung up and locked the
office. "Joe Stafford's got starting trouble with that old Olds of
his," he told Stan. "His new dry-cleaning route's just taking hold, so
he needs the car back by noon. "Isn't that the same '55 he used
on that tri-state route?" asked Stan "It must have clocked 100,000
miles by now." "Hundred and two, he says.
Looks like a late customer out
at the pumps. Take care of him, will you?" It wasn't a him," Gus
noticed as he walked past a minute later, but the redoubtable Mrs. McQuerry.
She nodded silently at Gus, her face grim under its crown of iron-gray
curls. But Stan was already shutting the hood, so whatever had brought
her back wasn't serious. Gus headed homeward.
"In this stop-and-go business,:
explained Joe Stafford next morning, "I can't leave the engine running.
Sometimes customers keep me waiting to collect clothing or find loose change
to pay me, or just to chew the rag. That wouldn't hurt if only the
engine would start again. But lots of times the starter doesn't have
enough moxie, and I got to wait 10-12 minutes before it'll turn the engine
over."
He reached into the car and turned the
key. The starter spun briskly for a moment, and the engine fired. He
shut it off.
"Funny. Once in a while the
starter seems to run double-quick, like that. But mostly it drags.
It's knocked out my delivery and pickup schedule so badly my volume's off
and the plant has another fellow bidding for the route.
Again Stafford turned the key.
This time the starter groaned reluctantly, only to quit after two or three
hopeful, labored chugs.
Stafford looked almost pleased.
Gus glanced at the dash. The water-temperature gauge was nudging the
hot sector.
"Had much work done on the engine?"
"Not since the 50,000 mark," said
Stafford proudly. "She runs fine, once she starts. It ain't the
starter, I had that electric man on Grove Street check it."
"The engine may be loaded with
carbon," said Gus. "That could be your trouble."
Stafford scowled. "Can't be
carbon jamming the pistons, or it wouldn't run."
"Could be carbon so thick it insulates
the combustion chambers from the cooling water, so they get too hot.
Thick carbon also boosts the compression ratio. Ever hear of
compression ignition?"
"You mean compression firing the fuel
without a spark, like a diesel?"
"Sure, only too soon. If the
charge explodes before top dead center, it kicks the crank backwards,
bucking the starter. Happens mostly when the chambers are hot.
That's why you have to wait sometimes-to let them cool a bit."
Stafford mused gloomily. "Can't
spare the car long enough to let you scrape carbon, or even afford to pay
for that just now. Once I build up the route I'll get a panel truck,
but right now the starting trouble could put me out of business."
Gus eyed the water-temperature gauge
thoughtfully. "Give me a couple of hours and I'll see what I can do."
He was warming up the engine when Stan
came out from the rear.
"I heard that about compression
ignition," he said. "Happens mostly with old high mileage crates like
this, doesn't it?"
"No," returned Gus. "With some kinds
of gas and high water-jacket temperatures you get it in newer engines, too."
I'm surprised Stafford hasn't got after-running."
"What's that?" asked Stan.
"What they call it if an engine keeps
running after you cut the ignition. Can be from compression ignition,
or red-hot deposits, or both. Scares some drivers."
The water gauge was again near the hot
sector. Cautiously Gus released the radiator cap to its first notch.
Steam hissed, billowed up briefly as he removed the cap. Shutting off
the engine, he drained off some water and removed the thermostat. It
was almost shut, and was slimy with an oil film.
Gus tossed it into a can of boiling
water. The thermostat remained closed. He fished it out, threw
it away, and asked Stan to bring him a 160-degree unit.
"Here you are, Boss," said his
assistant, handing over the new thermostat. "But from what you said I
thought Stafford's trouble was carbon?"
"Mostly it is, but it doesn't help to
have a thermostat that won't open, or a cooling system with oil in it from
head gasket seepage. The oil puts an insulating layer on one side of
the cooling jacket, while carbon holds heat on the other. I'm going to
clean out the cooling system and put in this fast-opening stat. If we
can move heat out faster, that may lower chamber temperature enough to lick
the hot-start problem."
Stan nodded in comprehension. "And
get the car back on Stafford's route in a jiffy. If it doesn't work, I
have a surer cure, Gus."
"What's that?"
"Jack up the radiator cap and drive a
new car under it," quipped Stan."
"Uh-huh. While you're in the
mood for gags, why was Mrs. McQuerry wearing her battle-axe look last
night?"
"Oh, nothing much, Boss. All
fixed."
"I know that," returned Gus.
"Otherwise she'd have been back this morning. What was it you had to
fix after a full engine tune-up?"
Stan reddened slightly. "A goof
by me. She complained the car had less pep than before. The
cable on number-seven plug had dropped off. Guess I didn't push it on
all the way after I put in the new plugs. She couldn't have come back
this morning, though. She was on her way to stay overnight with her
sister at Blainsville for a birthday party. That's what made her sore
- she thought she'd be late there."
"Better hope she wasn't," returned
Gus. "I wouldn't care to tackle her if she was really mad."
After installing the thermostat, Gus
flushed out the system with a chemical cleaner. Afterwards he drained
and refilled the cooling system. The he drove out into a hilly area.
The water gauge went to "warm" and stayed there.
At a crest, after a hard uphill pull,
Gus shut off the engine. A touch of the key cranked the engine
normally, and it came to life. He shut it off again and waited five
minutes. Once more the starter took hold.
Driving back to the shop, he stopped
the engine at three traffic lights. Each time the starter responded.
Satisfied, he drove into the Model Garage.
"I think that'll do it," he told Stan.
"Good. You
know that first time Stafford tried the starter here, it seemed to run
fast."
"That's right," agreed Gus. "If
compression ignition fails to fire the first few cycles, the starter can
reach normal cranking speed. Then if compression fires the fuel,
momentum swings the cranks over dead center and this maverick ignition
actually helps the starter, making it crank two or three times as fast as it
could by itself. But you can't count on compression not firing right
off, when cranking has barely begun, and catching the cranks the wrong side
of dead center."
It was closing time again when a horn
sounded imperiously at the gas pumps. Stan had left early to buy a
part before the dealer closed, so Gus had to answer the summons.
Umbrella in hand, Mrs. McQuerry alighted from her car as he came up.
"You should be ashamed of the work you
did on this car of mine, Mr. Gus Wilson," she snapped, waving her umbrella
vigorously as though she meant to club Gus.
"My assistant is a good mechanic, Mrs.
McQuerry. If he overlooked anything, we'll make it good."
"You'll make up for me being late to
my own sister's birthday dinner, will you? And for having to stop
twice on the road? You want to fix my husband's dinner, which is going
to be late because I'm here now?"
"I'm sorry you were inconvenienced,"
apologized Gus. "Let me have a look."
Annoyed to think that Stan probably
hadn't squeezed the loose terminal cap tighter. Gus expected to find
the cable loose again. He raised the hood. To his surprise all
cables were firmly in place. He started the engine. Its beat was
uneven, suggesting a weak cylinder.
"When I left here last night," went on
Mrs. McQuerry, "it didn't feel as good as before the tune-up I paid you
for." Halfway to Blainsville it suddenly got worse. I stopped in
a gas station and the man did something. Coming home today, it got bad
again. Another gas-station man made it a little better for longer than
the other. But it isn't right. What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to drive you home so you
can get your husband's dinner ready on time," said Gus. "And I'll have
your car in top shape by 10 tomorrow."
"Joe Stafford phoned," reported Stan
as Gus came in next morning. "Said he worked late, but that the engine
started every time after he took it yesterday."
"Good," said Gus. "Did you see
the note I left on Mrs. McQuerry's car?"
"Sure. And I've checked it.
Timing, points, carburetor all fine. The plugs were new yesterday, and
all were gapped right. I've got them out so I can make a compression
check."
By the time Gus Had changed to
overalls, Stan was replacing the plugs.
"Wouldn't you know?" he said
bitterly. Compression's right on the button."
"Let's hear the engine again," said
Gus.
Stan started it. Once more Gus
detected the slight pulse of a limping cylinder. He seized the
throttle and gunned it briefly. There was a "plop" as something flew
up on the side of the engine.
"Cable blew off number three plug!"
reported Stan in amazement.
Gus killed the engine and picked up a
wrench. Removing number three plug, he glanced at it and gave it to
Stan.
"The metal top is loose!" said Stan.
"That plug was defective," remarked
Gus. "The loose top let cylinder gases get inside the rubber cap.
On open throttle the pressure blew the cable off."
"But I revved up the engine when I was
checking. Why didn't it pop off then?"
"Two mechanics put it back for Mrs.
McQuerry," said Gus. "Bet you a hamburger to this bum plug that the
second man split cap number seven, probably thinking it was too tight and
didn't seat down far enough."
Stan slipped off number-seven cap.
"He sure did. The split bled off
pressure, so it didn't blow off the cable. But blow-by made the engine
run rough."
"Right," said Gus. "Put in a new
plug. And explain things to Mrs. McQuerry."
Stan shook his head. "Not me.
You."
"Yeah? Why?"
"Seeing how easily you cooled that
overheated car of Stafford's," explained Stan with a straight face, "it'll
be a cinch to handle a female with a boiling-point temper."
