It was one of those weeks when the U.S. citizen re-experienced the urge that had assailed him annually since the day of the Apperson Eight and the Pope-Toledo. He wanted to go somewhere in an automobile. He wanted to breathe exhaust fumes and fresh spring air just for the tonic effect. He wanted to speed or crawl as the spirit moved him; to read new Burma-Shave signs, flip cigarettes at rural mail boxes, or park and fall into a stupor with the sun on his neck.

He yearned for a new convertible with the...

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