Milt cried, "Golly! May be a transcontinental racer! Be in New York in
five days--going night and day--take mud at fifty an hour--crack
mechanic right from the factory--change tires in three minutes--people
waiting up all night to give him gasoline and a sandwich! That's my idea
of fun!"
Studying Milt's shadowed face, Claire considered, "He could do it, too.
Sitting there at the wheel, taking danger and good road with the same
steadiness. Oh, he's--well, anyway, he's a dear boy."
But what she said was: "Less dramatic things for you, now, Milt. Trigonometry is going to be
your idea of fun; blueprints and engineering books."
"Yes. I know. I'm going to do it. Do four years' work in three--or two.
I'll tack pages of formulas on the wall, in my bum hallroom, and study
'em while I'm shaving. Oh, I'll be the grind! But learn to dance the
fox-trot, though! If America gets into the war, I'll get into the
engineering corps, and come back to school afterward."
"Will the finances----"
"I'll sell my garage, by mail. Rauskukle will take it. He won't rob me
of more than a thousand dollars on price--not much more."
"You're going to love Seattle. And we'll have some good tramps while I'm
there, you and I."
"Honestly? Will you want to?"
"Do you suppose for one second I'd give up my feeling of free air? If
you don't come and get me, I'll call on you and make you come!"
"Warn you I'll probably be living over some beanery."
"Probably. With dirty steps leading up to it. I'll sweep the steps. I'll
cook supper for you. I can do things, can't I! I did manage Dlorus,
didn't I!"
He was murmuring, "Claire, dear!" when she changed her tone to the echo
of Brooklyn Heights, and hurried on, "You do understand, don't you!
We'll be, uh, good friends."
"Yes." He drove with much speed and silence.
Though they were devouring the dark road, though roadside rocks, caught
by the headlights, seemed to fly up at them, though they went on
forever, chased by a nightmare, Claire snuggled down in security. Her
head drooped against his shoulder. He put his arm about her, his hand
about her waist. She sleepily wondered if she ought to let him. She
heard herself muttering, "Sorry I was so rude when you were so rude,"
and her chilly cheek discovered that the smooth-worn shoulder of his old
blue coat was warm, and she wondered some more about the questions of
waists and hands and---- She was asleep.
She awoke, bewildered to find that dawn was slipping into the air. While
she had slept Milt had taken his arm from about her and fished out a
lap-robe for her. Behind them, Dlorus was slumbering, with her soft
mouth wide open. Claire felt the luxury of the pocket of warmth under
the lap-robe; she comfortably stretched her legs while she pictured Milt
driving on all the night, rigid, tireless, impersonal as the engineer of
a night express.