Snoqualmie Pass lies among mountains prickly with rocks and burnt

stumps, but the road is velvet, with broad saucer curves; and to Milt it

was pure beauty, it was release from life, to soar up coaxing inclines

and slip down easy grades in the powerful car. "No more Teals for me,"

he cried, in the ecstasy of handling an engine that slowed to a demure

whisper, then, at a touch of the accelerator, floated up a rise,

effortless, joyous, humming the booming song of the joy in speed. He

suddenly hated the bucking tediousness of the Teal. The Gomez-Dep

symbolized his own new life.

So he came to Lake Washington, and just across it was the city of his

long dreams, the city of the Pacific--and of Claire. There was no ferry

in sight, and he rounded the lake, struck a brick pavement, rolled

through rough woods, suburban villas, and petty business streets, to a

region of factories and mills, with the funnels of ships beyond.

And every minute he drove more slowly and became more uneasy.

The pavement--the miles of it; the ruthless lumbermills, with their

thousands of workmen quite like himself; the agitation of realizing

that every three minutes he was passing a settlement larger than

Schoenstrom; the strangeness of ships and all the cynical ways of the

sea--the whole scene depressed him as he perceived how little of the

world he knew, and how big and contemptuous of Milt Daggetts that world

must be.

"Huh!" he growled. "Quite some folks living here. Don't suppose they

spend such a whale of a lot of time thinking about Milt Daggett and Bill

McGolwey and Prof Jones. I guess most of these people wouldn't think

Heinie Rauskukle's store was so gosh-awful big. I wasn't scared of

Minneapolis--much--but there they didn't ring in mountains and an ocean

on you. And I didn't have to go up on the hill and meet folks like

Claire's relations, and figure out whether you shake hands

catch-as-catch-can or Corinthian. Look at that sawmill chimney--isn't it

nice of 'em to put the fly-screen over it so the flies won't get down

into the flames. No, they haven't got much more than a million feet of

lumber in that one pile. And here's a bum little furniture store--it

wouldn't cost more 'n about ten times all I've got to buy one of those

Morris chairs. Oh Gooooooosh, won't these houses ever stop? Say, that

must be a jitney. The driver snickered at me. Will the whole town be

onto me? Milt, you're a kind young fellow, and you know what's the

matter with Heinie's differential, but they don't need you here. Quite

a few folks to carry on the business. Gosh, look at that building

ahead--nine stories!"

He had planned to stop at a hotel, to wash up, and to gallop to Claire.

But--well--wouldn't it maybe be better to leave the car at a public

garage, so the Boltwoods could get it when they wanted to? He'd better

"just kind of look around before he tackled the watch-dog."




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