"I'll tell you what we'll do," he said. "We won't go to any of the old
places. I've found a new roadhouse in the country that's respectable
enough to suit anybody. We'll go out to Schwitter's and get some dinner.
I'll promise to get you back early. How's that?"
In the end she gave in. And on the way out he lived up to the letter of
their agreement. The situation exhilarated him: Grace with her new air of
virtue, her new aloofness; his comfortable car; Johnny Rosenfeld's discreet
back and alert ears.
The adventure had all the thrill of a new conquest in it. He treated the
girl with deference, did not insist when she refused a cigarette, felt
glowingly virtuous and exultant at the same time.
When the car drew up before the Schwitter place, he slipped a five-dollar
bill into Johnny Rosenfeld's not over-clean hand.
"I don't mind the ears," he said. "Just watch your tongue, lad." And
Johnny stalled his engine in sheer surprise.
"There's just enough of the Jew in me," said Johnny, "to know how to talk a
lot and say nothing, Mr. Howe."
He crawled stiffly out of the car and prepared to crank it.
"I'll just give her the 'once over' now and then," he said. "She'll freeze
solid if I let her stand."
Grace had gone up the narrow path to the house. She had the gift of
looking well in her clothes, and her small hat with its long quill and her
motor-coat were chic and becoming. She never overdressed, as Christine was
inclined to do.
Fortunately for Palmer, Tillie did not see him. A heavy German maid waited
at the table in the dining-room, while Tillie baked waffles in the kitchen.
Johnny Rosenfeld, going around the side path to the kitchen door with
visions of hot coffee and a country supper for his frozen stomach, saw her
through the window bending flushed over the stove, and hesitated. Then,
without a word, he tiptoed back to the car again, and, crawling into the
tonneau, covered himself with rugs. In his untutored mind were certain
great qualities, and loyalty to his employer was one. The five dollars in
his pocket had nothing whatever to do with it.
At eighteen he had developed a philosophy of four words. It took the place
of the Golden Rule, the Ten Commandments, and the Catechism. It was: "Mind
your own business."
The discovery of Tillie's hiding-place interested but did not thrill him.
Tillie was his cousin. If she wanted to do the sort of thing she was
doing, that was her affair. Tillie and her middle-aged lover, Palmer Howe
and Grace--the alley was not unfamiliar with such relationships. It viewed
them with tolerance until they were found out, when it raised its hands.