If he knew what it was he guessed, he couldn't get it out. While he was

trying to find out what had become of all the things there were to say

in the world, a maid came in with an astonishing object--a small, red,

shelved table on wheels, laden with silver vessels, and cake, and

sandwiches that were amazingly small and thin.

The maid was so starched that she creaked. She glanced at Milt----

Claire didn't make him so nervous that he thought of his clothes, but

the maid did. He was certain that she knew that he had blacked his own

shoes, knew how old were his clothes. He was urging himself, "Must get

new suit tomorrow--ready-made--mustn't forget, now--be sure--get suit

tomorrow." He wanted to apologize to the maid for existing.... He

wouldn't dare to fall in love with the maid.... And he'd kill the man

who said he could be fool enough to fall in love with Miss Boltwood.

He sipped his tea, and dropped sandwich crumbs, and ached, and panted,

and peeped at the crushing quantities of pictures and sconces and tables

and chairs in the room, and wondered what they did with all of them,

while Claire chattered: "Yes, we weren't exclusive out on the road. Didn't we meet funny people

though! Oh, somehow that 'funny people' sounds familiar. But---- What

fun that morning was at--Pellago, was it? Heavens, I'm forgetting those

beastly little towns already--that place where we hazed the poor

landlady who overcharged me."

"Yes." He was thinking of how much Claire would forget, now. "Yes. We

certainly fixed her, all right. Uh--did you get the storage check for

your car?"

"Oh yes, thank you. So nice of you to bother with it."

"Oh, nothing at all, nothing---- Nothing at all. Uh---- Do you like

Seattle?"

"Oh yes. Such views--the mountains---- Do you like it?"

"Oh yes. Always wanted to see the sea."

"Yes, and---- Such a well-built town."

"Yes, and---- They must do a lot of business here."

"Yes, they---- Oh yes, I do like Seat----"

He had darted from his chair, brushed by the tea-wagon, ignoring its

rattle and the perilous tipping of cups. He put his hand on her

shoulder, snorted, "Look here. We're both sparring for time. Stop it.

It's--it's all right, Claire. I want you to like me, but I'm not--I'm

not like that woman you were telling about that's trying to butt in. I

know, Lord I know so well what you're thinking! You're thinking I'm not

up to the people you've been seeing last couple of days--not up to 'em

yet, anyway. Well---- We'll be good friends."

Fearless, now, his awe gone in tenderness, he lifted her chin, looked

straight into her eyes, smiled. But his courage was slipping. He wanted

to run and hide.




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