"Why, I kind of hope---- Government railroad, Alaska. I'm going to try

to get in on that, somehow. I've never been out of Minnesota in my life,

but there's couple mountains and oceans and things I thought I'd like

to see, so I just put my suitcase and Vere de Vere in the machine, and

started out. I burn distillate instead of gas, so it doesn't cost much.

If I ever happen to have five whole dollars, why, I might go on to

Japan!"

"That would be jolly."

"Though I s'pose I'd have to eat--what is it?--pickled fish? There's a

woman from near my town went to the Orient as a missionary. From what

she says, I guess all you need in Japan to make a house is a bottle of

mucilage and a couple of old newspapers and some two-by-fours. And you

can have the house on a purple mountain, with cherry trees down below,

and----" He put his clenched hand to his lips. His head was bowed. "And

the ocean! Lord! The ocean! And we'll see it at Seattle. Bay, anyway.

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 sturdy 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 township, 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 damn 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."




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