Part 3 (2/2)
And steamers there--just come from India! Huh! Getting pretty darn poetic here! Eggs are done.”
The young man did not again wander into visions. He was all briskness as he served her bacon and eggs, took a plate of them to Mr. Boltwood in the Gomez, gouged into his own. Having herself scoured the tin plates, Claire was not repulsed by their naked tinniness; and the coffee in the broken-handled china cup was tolerable. Milt drank from the top of a vacuum bottle. He was silent. Immediately after the lunch he stowed the things away. Claire expected a drawn-out, tact-demanding farewell, but he climbed into his bug, said ”Good-by, Miss Boltwood. Good luck!” and was gone.
The rainy road was bleakly empty without him.
It did not seem possible that Claire's body could be nagged into going on any longer. Her muscles were relaxed, her nerves frayed. But the moment the Gomez started, she discovered that magic change which every long-distance motorist knows. Instantly she was alert, seemingly able to drive forever. The pilot's instinct ruled her; gave her tireless eyes and st.u.r.dy hands. Surely she had never been weary; never would be, so long as it was hers to keep the car going.
She had driven perhaps six miles when she reached a hamlet called St.
Klopstock. On the bedraggled mud-and-shanty main street a man was loading crushed rock into a truck. By him was a large person in a prosperous raincoat, who stepped out, held up his hand. Claire stopped.
”You the young lady that got stuck in that hole by Adolph Zolzac's?”
”Yes. And Mr. Zolzac wasn't very nice about it.”
”He's going to be just elegant about it, now, and there ain't going to be any more hole. I think Adolph has been keeping it muddy--throwing in soft dirt--and he made a good and plenty lot out of pulling out tourists. Bill and I are going down right now and fill it up with stone.
Milt Daggett come through here--he's got a nerve, that fellow, but I did have to laugh--he says to me, 'Barney----' This was just now. He hasn't more than just drove out of town. He said to me, 'Barney,' he says, 'you're the richest man in this towns.h.i.+p, and the banker, and you got a big car y'self, and you think you're one whale of a political boss,' he says, 'and yet you let that Zolzac maintain a private ocean, against the peace and d.a.m.n horrible inconvenience of the Commonwealth of Minnesota----' He's got a great line of talk, that fellow. He told me how you got stuck--made me so ashamed--I been to New York myself--and right away I got Bill, and we're going down and hold a donation and surprise party on Adolph and fill that hole.”
”But won't Adolph dig it out again?”
The banker was puffy, but his eyes were of stone. From the truck he took a shotgun. He drawled, ”In that case, the surprise party will include an elegant wake.”
”But how did---- Who is this extraordinary Milt Daggett?”
”Him? Oh, n.o.body 'specially. He's just a fellow down here at Schoenstrom. But we all know him. Goes to all the dances, thirty miles around. Thing about him is: if he sees something wrong, he picks out some poor fellow like me, and says what he thinks.”
Claire drove on. She was aware that she was looking for Milt's bug. It was not in sight.
”Father,” she exclaimed, ”do you realize that this lad didn't tell us he was going to have the hole filled? Just did it. He frightens me. I'm afraid that when we reach Gopher Prairie for the night, we'll find he has engaged for us the suite that Prince Collars and Cuffs once slept in.”
”Hhhhmm,” yawned her father.
”Curious young man. He said, 'Pleased to meet you.'”
”Huuuuhhm! Fresh air makes me so sleepy.”
”And---- Fooled you! Got through that mudhole, anyway! And he said---- Look! Fields stretch out so here, and not a tree except the willow-groves round those farmhouses. And he said 'Gee' so many times, and 'dinner' for the noon meal. And his nails---- No, I suppose he really is just a farm youngster.”
Mr. Boltwood did not answer. His machine-finish smile indicated an enormous lack of interest in young men in Teal bugs.
CHAPTER IV
A ROOM WITHOUT
Gopher Prairie has all of five thousand people. Its commercial club a.s.serts that it has at least a thousand more population and an infinitely better band than the ridiculously envious neighboring town of Joralemon. But there were few signs that a suite had been engaged for the Boltwoods, or that Prince Collars and Cuffs had on his royal tour of America spent much time in Gopher Prairie. Claire reached it somewhat before seven. She gaped at it in a hazy way. Though this was her first prairie town for a considerable stay, she could not pump up interest.
The state of mind of the touring motorist entering a strange place at night is as peculiar and definite as that of a prospector. It is compounded of grat.i.tude at having got safely in; of perception of a new town, yet with all eagerness about new things dulled by weariness; of hope that there is going to be a good hotel, but small expectation--and absolutely no probability--that there really will be one.
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