“How long will it run like that before it starts rattling again?” Matilda asked him.
Long enough for the buyer to get a good distance away,the father said, grinning. “About a hundred miles.”
But that's dishonest, daddy,” Matilda said. “It's cheating.”
“No one ever got rich being honest,” the father said. “Customers are there to be diddled.”
Mr Wormwood was a small ratty-looking man whose front teeth stuck out underneath a thin ratty moustache.
He liked to wear jackets with large brightly-coloured checks and he sported ties that were usually yellow or pale green.
“Now take mileage for instance,” he went on. “Anyone who's buying a second-hand car,
the first thing he wants to know is how many miles it's done. Right?” “Right,” the son said.
“So I buy an old dump that's got about a hundred and fifty thousand miles on the clock. I get it cheap.”
“But no one's going to buy it with a mileage like that, are they?”
“And these days you can't just take the speedometer out and fiddle the numbers back like you used to ten years ago.”
“They've fixed it so it's impossible to tamper with it unless you're a ruddy watchmaker or something.”
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