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'Why do you want to restore it the way LeBay had it?'

That vague shrug again. 'I don't know. It just seems like the right thing to do.'

'Well, I think you're doing a hell of a job.'

'Thank you.'

His father leaned toward him, looking at the instrument panel.

'What are you looking at?' Arnie asked, a little sharply.

'I'll be damned,' Michael said. 'I've never seen that before.'

'What? Arnie glanced down. 'Oh. The milometer.'

'It's running backward, isn't it?'

The milometer was indeed running backward; at that time, on the evening of November 1, it read 79,500 and some odd miles. As Michael watched, the tenths-of-a-mile indicator rolled from.2 to. 1 to 0. As it went back to.9, the actual miles slipped back by one.

Michael laughed. 'That's one thing you missed, son.'

Arnie smiled - a small smile. 'That's right,' he said. 'Will says there's a wire crossed in there someplace. I don't think I'll fool with it. It's sort of neat, having a milometer that runs backward.'

'Is it accurate?'

'Huh?'

'Well, if you go from our house to Station Square, would it subtract five miles from the total?'

'Oh,' Arnie said. 'I get you. No, it's not accurate at all. Turns back two or three miles for every actual mile travelled. Sometimes more. Sooner or later the speedometer cable will break, and when I replace that, it'll take care of itself.'

Michael, who had had a speedometer cable or two break on him in his time, glanced at the needle for the characteristic jitter that indicated trouble there. But the needle hung dead still just above forty. The speedometer seemed fine; it was only the milometer that had gotten funky. And did Arnie really believe that the speedometer and milometer ran off the same cables? Surely not.

He laughed and said, 'That's weird, son.'

'Why the airport?' Arnie asked.

'I'm going to treat you to a thirty-day parking stub,' Michael said. 'Five dollars. Cheaper than Darnell's garage. And you can get your car out whenever you want it. The airport's a regular stop on the bus run. End of the line, in fact.'

'Holy Christ, that's the craziest thing I ever heard!' Arnie shouted. He pulled into the turnaround drive of a darkened dry cleaner's shop. 'I'm to take the bus twenty miles out to the airport to get my car when I need it? It's like something out of Catch-22! No! No way!'

He was about to say something more, when he was suddenly grabbed by the neck.

'You listen,' Michael said. 'I'm your father, so you listen to me. Your mother was right, Arnie. You've gotten unreasonable - more than unreasonable - in the last couple of months. You've gotten downright peculiar.'

'Let go of me,' Arnie said, struggling in his father's grip.

Michael didn't let go, but he loosened up. 'I'll put it in perspective for you,' he said. 'Yes, the airport is a long way to come, but the same quarter that would take you to Darnell's will take you out here. There are parking garages closer in, but there are more incidents of theft and vandalism in the city. The airport is, by contrast, quite safe.'

'No public parking lot is safe.'

'Second, it's cheaper than a downtown garage and much cheaper than Darnell's.'

'That's not the point, and you know it!'

'Maybe you're right,' Michael said. 'But you're missing something too, Arnie. You're missing the real point.'

'Well suppose you tell me what the real point is.'

'All right. I will.' Michael paused for a moment, looking steadily at his son. When he spoke his voice was low and even, almost as musical as his recorder. 'Along with any sense of what is reasonable, you seem to have totally lost your sense of perspective. You're almost eighteen, in your last year at public school. I think you've made up your mind not to go to Horlicks; I've seen the college brochures you've brought home - '

'No, I'm not going to Horlicks,' Arnie said. He sounded a little calmer now. 'Not after all of this. You have no idea how badly I want to get away. Or maybe you do.'

'Yes. I do. And maybe that's best.