"Oh, I'm sure you could!"
Her admiration, the proximity of her fragrant slightness, was pleasant
in the dusk, but he did not press her hand again, even when she
whispered, "Good night, and thank you--oh, thank you."
If Milt had been driving at the rate at which he usually made his
skipjack carom over the roads about Schoenstrom, he would by now have
been through Dakota, into Montana. But he was deliberately holding down
the speed. When he had been tempted by a smooth stretch to go too
breathlessly, he halted, teased Vere de Vere, climbed out and, sitting
on a hilltop, his hands about his knees, drenched his soul with the
vision of amber distances.
He tried so to time his progress that he might always be from three to
five miles behind Claire--distant enough to be unnoticed, near enough to
help in case of need. For behind poetic expression and the use of forks
was the fact that his purpose in life was to know Claire.
When he was caught, when Claire informed him that he "mustn't worry
about her"; when, slowly, he understood that she wasn't being neighborly
and interested in his making time, he wanted to escape, never to see her
again.
For thirty miles his cheeks were fiery. He, most considerate of roadmen,
crowded a woman in a flivver, passed a laboring car on an upgrade with
such a burst that the uneasy driver bumped off into a ditch. He hadn't
really seen them. Only mechanically had he got past them. He was
muttering: "She thought I was trying to butt in! Stung again! Like a small boy in
love with teacher. And I thought I was so wise! Cussed out Mac--blamed
Mac--no, damn all the fine words--cussed out Mac for being the village
rumhound. Boozing is twice as sensible as me. See a girl, nice
dress--start for Seattle! Two thousand miles away! Of course she bawled
me out. She was dead right. Boob! Yahoo! Goat!"
He caught up Vere de Vere, rubbed her fur against his cheek while he
mourned, "Oh, puss, you got to be nice to me. I thought I'd do big
things. And then the alarm clock went off. I'm back in Schoenstrom. For
keeps, I guess. I didn't know I had feelings that could get hurt like
this. Thought I had a rhinoceros hide. But---- Oh, it isn't just feeling
ashamed over being a fool. It's that---- Won't ever see her again. Not
once. Way I saw her through the window, at that hotel, in that blue
silky dress--that funny long line of buttons, and her throat. Never have
dinner--lunch--with her by the road----"
In the reaction of anger he demanded of Vere de Vere, "What the deuce do
I care? If she's chump enough to chase away a crack garage man that's
gone batty and wants to work for nothing, let her go on and hit some
crook garage and get stuck for an entire overhauling. What do I care?
Had nice trip; that's all I wanted. Never did intend to go clear to
Seattle, anyway. Go on to Butte, then back home. No more fussing about
fool table-manners and books, and I certainly will cut out tagging
behind her! No, sir! Nev-er again!"