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Selma and Lazlo stood in awe, seeing the 1917 Ahrens-Fox fire engine gleaming under a bright sun. The front repair of the sterling valves and silver pump were touched up with chrome and nickel plating, creating a blinding reflection. The original red paint and beautiful gold-leafed decorations were buffed to a shiny patina.
Sam lightly rubbed his hand over a fender, as if it was a shrine. “They were able to save the ladders, hoses, and the wooden wheels. It’s still all original. Just think, one hundred years old,” said Sam, “and ready to put out a fire.”
“It looks like new,” said Remi, as she admired the golden trim. “I can’t believe it’s the same vehicle we crashed through those iron doors with. How did you get it looking so new?”
“I hired a company in London who are experts at restoring vehicles,” answered Sam. “I think you’ll agree, they did a flawless job.”
After writing a check to satisfy the truck driver, Sam and Lazlo disappeared and returned with a battery and a jerry jug of fuel. “Everyone ready!” Sam called out as he helped Remi and Selma on board. Even Zoltán jumped onto the floorboard, next to Remi.
“He’s not a Dalmatian, but he’ll have to do,” said Remi.
Then with Sam at the wheel, Lazlo ringing the bell, Remi leaning on the siren, and Zoltán howling, the Ahrens-Fox flew through the streets of La Jolla like a dragon from the past.
