Part 23 (1/2)
”I quite understand, my lad. I admire your chivalric delicacy. Farewell, old _compagnon de voyage_!”
Milt inquired of Mr. Barmberry whether the Boltwoods were within, and burst into the parlor-living-room-library. As he cried to Claire, by the fire, ”Thought I'd never catch up with you,” he was conscious that standing up, talking to Mr. Boltwood, was an old-young man, very suave, very unfriendly of eye. He had an Oxford-gray suit, unwrinkled cordovan shoes; a pert, insultingly well-tied blue bow tie, and a superior narrow pink bald spot. As he heard Jeff Saxton murmur, ”Ah. Mr. Daggett!” Milt felt the luxury in the room--the fleecy robe over Claire's shoulders, the silver box of candy by her elbow, the smell of expensive cigars, and the portly complacence of Mr. Boltwood.
”Have you had any dinner?” Claire was asking, when a voice boomed, ”Let me introduce myself as Westlake Parrott.”
Jeff abruptly took charge. He faced Pinky and demanded, ”I beg pardon!”
Claire's eyebrows asked questions of Milt.
”This is a fellow I gave a lift to. Miner--I mean actor--well, kind of spiritualistic medium----”
Mr. Boltwood, with the geniality of dinner and cigar, soothed, ”Jeff, uh, Daggett here has saved our lives two distinct times, and given us a great deal of help. He is a motor expert. He has always refused to let us do anything in return but---- I noticed there was almost a whole fried chicken left. I wonder if he wouldn't share it with, uh, with his acquaintance here before--before they make camp for the night?”
In civil and vicious tones Jeff began, ”Very glad to reward any one who has been of service to----”
He was drowned out by Pinky's effusive, ”True hospitality is a virtue as delicate as it is rare. We accept your invitation. In fact I should be glad to have one of those cigarros elegantos that mine olfactory----”
Milt cut in abruptly, ”Pink! Shut up! Thanks, folks, but we'll go on.
Just wanted to see if you had got in safe. See you tomorrow, some place.”
Claire was close to Milt, her fingers on his sleeve. ”Please, Milt!
Father! You didn't make your introduction very complete. You failed to tell Mr. Daggett that this is Mr. Saxton, a friend of ours in Brooklyn.
Please, Milt, do stay and have dinner. I won't let you go on hungry. And I want you to know Jeff--Mr. Saxton.... Jeff, Mr. Daggett is an engineer, that is, in a way. He's going to take an engineering course in the University of Was.h.i.+ngton. Some day I shall make you bloated copper magnates become interested in him.... Mrs. Barmberry. Mrssssssss.
Barrrrrrrmberrrrrry! Oh. Oh, Mrs. Barmberry, won't you please warm up that other chicken for----”
”Oh, now, that's too bad. Me and Jim have et it all up!” wept the landlady, at the door.
”I'll go on,” stammered Milt.
Jeff looked at him expressionlessly.
”You will not go on!” Claire was insisting. ”Mrs. Barmberry, won't you cook some eggs or steak or something for these boys?”
”Perhaps,” Jeff suggested, ”they'd rather make their own dinner by a campfire. Must be very jolly, and that sort of thing.”
”Jeff, if you don't mind, this is my party, just for the moment!”
”Quite right. Sorry!”
”Milt, you sit here by the fire and get warm. I'm not going to be robbed of the egotistic pleasure of being hospitable. Everybody look happy now!”
She got them all seated--all but Pinky. He had long since seated himself, by the fire, in Claire's chair, and he was smoking a cigar from the box which Jeff had brought for Mr. Boltwood.
Milt sat farthest from the fire, by the dining-table. He was agonizing, ”This Jeff person is the real thing. He's no Percy in riding-breeches.
He's used to society and nastiness. If he looks at me once more--young garage man found froze stiff, near Flathead Lake, scared look in eyes, believed to have met a grizzly, no signs of vi'lence. And I thought I could learn to mingle with Claire's own crowd! I wish I was out in the bug. I wonder if I can't escape?”