"Oh! Oh, I see. Well, anyway: I am no mere nimble knight of wits, as you

may take it. In fact, I am lord of fair acres in Arcady."

"Don't know the burg. Montana or Idaho?"

"Neither! In the valley of dream!"

"Oh! That one. Huh!"

"But I happen to back them up with a perfectly undreamlike gold-mine.

Prospected for it in a canyon near Blewett Pass and found it, b' gum,

and my lady wife, erstwhile fairest among the society favorites of North

Yakima, now guards it against her consort's return. Straight goods. Got

the stuff. Been to Butte to get a raise on it, but the fell khedives of

commerce are jealous. They would hearken not. Gee, those birds certainly

did pull the frigid mitt! So I wend my way back to the demure Dolores,

the houri of my heart, and the next time I'll take a crack at the big

guns in Seattle. And I'll sure reward you for your generosity in taking

me to Blewett, all the long, long, languid, languorous way----"

"Too bad I got to stop couple of days at Spokane."

"Well, then you shall have the pleasure of taking me that far."

"And about a week in Kalispell!"

"'Twill discommode me, but 'pon honor, I like your honest simple face,

and I won't desert you. Besides! I know a guy in Kalispell, and I can

panhandle the sordid necessary chuck while I wait for you. Little you

know, my cockerel, how facile a brain your 'bus so lightly bears. When

I've cashed in on the mine, I'll take my rightful place among the

motored gentry. Not merely as actor and spieler, promoter and inventor

and soldier and daring journalist, have I played my rôle, but also I am

a mystic, an initiate, a clairaudient, a psychometrist, a Rosicrucian

adept, and profoundly psychic--in fact, my guide is Hermes Trismegistus

himself! I also hold a degree as doctor of mento-practic, and my studies

in astro-biochemistry----"

"Gonna stop. All off. Make little coffee," said Milt.

He did not desire coffee, and he did not desire to stop, but he did

desperately desire not to inflict Pinky Parrott upon the Boltwoods. It

was in his creed as a lover of motors never to refuse a ride to any one,

when he had room. He hoped to get around his creed by the hint implied

in stopping. Pinky's reaction to the hint was not encouraging: "Why, you have a touch of the psychic's flare! I could do with coffee

myself. But don't trouble to make a fire. I'll do that. You drive--I do

the camp work. Not but that I probably drive better than you, if you

will permit me to say so. I used to do a bit of racing, before I took up

aviation."




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