"I remember stopping at a garage in Schoenstrom, I'm almost sure it was,

for something. I seem to remember it was a good place. Do you own it?

Really?"

"Ye-es, what there is of it."

"But there's a great deal of it. It's efficient. You've done your job.

That's more than most high-born aides-de-camp could say."

"Honestly? Well--I don't know----"

"Who did you play with in Schoenstrom? Oh, I wish I'd noticed that

town. But I couldn't tell then that---- What, uh, which girl did you

fall in love with?"

"None! Honest! None! Not one! Never fell in love----"

"You're unfortunate. I have, lots of times. I remember quite enjoying

being kissed once, at a dance."

When he answered, his voice was strange: "I suppose you're engaged to

somebody."

"No. And I don't know that I shall be. Once, I thought I liked a man,

rather. He has nice eyes and the most correct spectacles, and he is

polite to his mother at breakfast, and his name is Jeff, and he will

undoubtedly be worth five or six hundred thousand dollars, some day, and

his opinions on George Moore and commercial paper are equally sound and

unoriginal---- Oh, I ought not to speak of him, and I certainly ought

not to be spiteful. I'm not at all reticent and ladylike, am I! But----

Somehow I can't see him out here, against a mountain of jagged rock."

"Only you won't always be out here against mountains. Some day you'll be

back in--where is it in New York State?"

"I confess it's Brooklyn--but not what you'd mean by Brooklyn. Your

remark shows you to have subtlety. I must remember that, mustn't I! I

won't always be driving through this big land. But---- Will I get all

fussy and ribbon-tied again, when I go back?"

"No. You won't. You drive like a man."

"What has that----"

"It has a lot to do with it. A garage man can trail along behind another

car and figger out, figure out, just about what kind of a person the

driver is from the way he handles his boat. Now you bite into the job.

You drive pretty neat--neatly. You don't either scoot too far out of the

road in passing a car, or take corners too wide. You won't be fussy. But

still, I suppose you'll be glad to be back among your own folks and

you'll forget the wild Milt that tagged along----"

"Milt--or Mr. Daggett--no, Milt! I shall never, in my oldest grayest

year, in a ducky cap by the fireplace, forget the half-second when your

hand came flashing along, and caught that man on the running-board. But

it wasn't just that melodrama. If that hadn't happened, something else

would have, to symbolize you. It's that you--oh, you took me in, a

stranger, and watched over me, and taught me the customs of the country,

and were never impatient. No, I shan't forget that; neither of the

Boltwoods will."




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