“So what do I do? I use my brains, laddie, that's what I do.”
“How?” young Michael asked, fascinated. He seemed to have inherited his father's love of crookery.
I sit down and say to myself, how can I convert a mileage reading of one hundred and fifty thousand
into only ten thousand without taking the speedometer to pieces?
Well, if I were to run the car backwards for long enough then obviously that would do it.”
The numbers would click backwards, wouldn't they? But who's going to drive a flaming car in reverse for thousands and thousands of miles?
“You couldn't do it!” “Of course you couldn't,” young Michael said.
“So I scratch my head,” the father said. “I use my brains.”
When you've been given a fine brain like I have, you've got to use it. And all of a sudden, the answer hits me.
I tell you, I felt exactly like that other brilliant fellow must have felt when he discovered penicillin. ‘Eureka!’ I cried.
“‘I've got it!’” “What did you do, dad?” the son asked him.
“The speedometer”, Mr Wormwood said,is run off a cable that is coupled up to one of the front wheels.
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