Milt tried to be hearty: "What're you going to do, old kid?"
"Well, the first thing I'm going to do is to borrow ten iron-men and a
pair of pants."
"You bet! Here she is. Haven't got any extra pants. Tell you: Here's
another five, and you can get the pants at the store in the next block,
this side of the street. Hustle along now and get 'em!" He chuckled at
Bill; he patted his arm; he sought to hurry him out.... He had to be
alone, to think.
But Bill kissed the fifteen dollars, carelessly rammed it into his
pocket, crawled back on the bed, yawned, "What's the rush? Gosh, I'm
sleepy. Say, Milt, whadyuh think of me and you starting a lunch-room
here together? You got enough money out of the garage----"
"Oh no, noooo, gee, I'd like to, Bill, but you see, well, I've got to
hold onto what little I've got so I can get through engineering school."
"Sure, but you could cash in on a restaurant--you could work evenings in
the dump, and there'd be a lot of city sports hanging around, and we'd
have the time of our lives."
"No, I---- I study, evenings. And I---- The fact is, Bill, I've met a
lot of nice fellows at the university and I kind of go around with
them."
"Aw, how d'you get that way? Rats, you don't want to go tagging after
them Willy-boys. Damn dirty snobs. And the girls are worse. I tell you,
Milt, these hoop-te-doodle society Janes may look all right to hicks
like us, but on the side they raise more hell than any milliner's
trimmer from Chi that ever vamped a rube burg."
"What do you know about them?"
"Now don't get sore. I'm telling you. I don't like to see any friend of
mine make a fool of himself hanging around with a bunch that despises
him because he ain't rich, that's all. Met any of the high-toned
skirts?"
"Yes--I--have!"
"Trot 'em up and lemme give 'em the once-over."
"We--we'll see about it. Now I got to go to a mathematics recitation,
Bill. You make yourself comfortable, and I'll be back at five."
Milt did not have to go to a recitation. He marched out with briskness
in his step, and a book under his arm; but when he reached the corner,
the briskness proved to be spurious, and the mathematics book proved to
be William Rose Benét's Merchants of Cathay, which Claire had given
him in the Yellowstone, and which he had rescued from the wrecked bug.
He stood staring at it. He opened it with unhappy tenderness. He had
been snatched from the world of beautiful words and serene dignity, of
soaring mountains and companionship with Claire in the radiant morning,
back to the mud and dust of Schoenstrom, from the opera to "city sports"
in a lunch-room! He hated Bill McGolwey and his sneering assumption that
Milt belonged in the filth with him. And he hated himself for not being
enough of a genius to combine Bill McGolwey and Claire Boltwood. But not
once, in his maelstrom of worry on that street corner, did he expect
Claire to like Bill. Through all his youthful agonizing, he had enough
common sense to know that though Claire might conquer a mountain pass,
she could never be equal to the social demands of Schoenstrom and Bill
McGolwey.