If there had been a war, Milt would probably have been in it--rather

casual, clearing his throat, reckoning and guessing that maybe his men

might try going over and taking that hill ... then taking it. But all of

this history concerns the year just before America spoke to Germany; and

in this town buried among the cornfields and the wheat, men still

thought more about the price of grain than about the souls of nations.

On the evening before Claire Boltwood left Minneapolis and adventured

into democracy, Milt was in the garage. He wore union overalls that were

tan where they were not grease-black; a faded blue cotton shirt; and the

crown of a derby, with the rim not too neatly hacked off with a dull

toad-stabber jack-knife.

Milt smiled at his assistant, Ben Sittka, and suggested, "Well, wie

geht 's mit the work, eh? Like to stay and get the prof's flivver out,

so he can have it in the morning?"

"You bet, boss."

"Getting to be quite a mechanic, Ben."

"I'll say so!"

"If you get stuck, come yank me out of the Old Home."

"Aw rats, boss. I'll finish it. You beat it." Ben grinned at Milt

adoringly.

Milt stripped off his overalls and derby-crown, and washed his big, firm

hands with gritty soft soap. He cleaned his nails with a file which he

carried in his upper vest pocket in a red imitation morocco case which

contained a comb, a mirror, an indelible pencil, and a note-book with

the smudged pencil addresses of five girls in St. Cloud, and a

memorandum about Rauskukle's car.

He put on a twisted brown tie, an old blue serge suit, and a hat which,

being old and shabby, had become graceful. He ambled up the street. He

couldn't have ambled more than three blocks and have remained on the

street. Schoenstrom tended to leak off into jungles of tall corn.

Two men waved at him, and one demanded, "Say, Milt, is whisky good for

the toothache? What d' you think! The doc said it didn't do any good.

But then, gosh, he's only just out of college."

"I guess he's right."

"Is that a fact! Well, I'll keep off it then."

Two stores farther on, a bulky farmer hailed, "Say, Milt, should I get

an ensilage cutter yet?"

"Yuh," in the manner of a man who knows too much to be cocksure about

anything, "I don't know but what I would, Julius."

"I guess I vill then."

Minnie Rauskukle, plump, hearty Minnie, heiress to the general store,

gave evidence by bridling and straightening her pigeon-like body that

she was aware of Milt behind her. He did not speak to her. He ducked

into the door of the Old Home Poolroom and Restaurant.




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