Thompson laid off his coat and set to work silently, withholding speech
for a double reason. He could not trust his tongue, and he was not given
to inconsequential chatter. If she did not recognize him--well, there
was no good reason why she should remember, if she chose not to
remember. He could lend a hand and go his way, just as he would have
been moved to lend a hand to any one in like difficulty.
He twisted out the bolt-heads, turned the lugs, pulled the rim clear of
the wheel. He stood up to get the spare tire from its place behind. And
he caught Sophie staring at him, astonishment, surprise, inquiry all
blended in one frank stare. But still she did not speak.
He trundled the blow-out casing to the rear, took off the one ready
inflated, and speedily had it fast in its appointed position on the
wheel.
And still Sophie Carr did not speak. She leaned against the car body. He
felt her eyes upon him, questioning, appraising, critical, while he
released the jack, gathered up the tools, and tied them up in the roll
on the running board.
"There you are," he found himself facing her, his tongue giving off
commonplace statements, while his heart thumped heavily in his breast.
"Ready for the road again."
"Do you remember what Donald Lachlan used to say?" Sophie answered
irrelevantly. "Long time I see you no. Eh, Mr. Thompson?"
She held out one gloved hand with just the faintest suggestion of a
smile hovering about her mouth. Thompson's work-roughened fingers closed
over her small soft hand. He towered over her, looking down wistfully.
"I didn't think you knew me," he muttered.
Sophie laughed. The smile expanded roguishly. The old, quizzical twinkle
flickered in her eyes.
"You must think my memory poor," she replied. "You're not one of the
peas in a pod, you know. I knew you, and still I wasn't sure. It seemed
scarcely possible. It's a long, long way from the Santa Clara Valley to
Lone Moose."
"Yes," he answered calmly. "A long way--the way I came."
"In a purely geographical sense?"
Her voice was tinged with gentle raillery.
"Perhaps," he answered noncommittally.
It dawned upon him that for all his gladness to see her--and he was
glad--he nursed a tiny flame of resentment. He had come a long way
measured on the map, and a far greater distance measured in human
experience, in spiritual reckoning. If the old narrow faith had failed
him he felt that slowly and surely he was acquiring a faith that would
not fail him, because it was based on a common need of mankind. But he
was still sure there must be a wide divergence in their outlook. He was
getting his worldly experience, his knowledge of material factors, of
men's souls and faiths and follies and ideals and weaknesses in a rude
school at first hand--and Sophie had got hers out of books and logical
deductions from critically assembled fact. There was a difference in the
two processes. He knew, because he had tried both. And where the world
at large faced him, and must continue to face him, like an enemy
position, something to be stormed, very likely with fierce fighting, for
Sophie Carr it had all been made easy.