"I remember stopping at a garage in Schoenstrom, I'm almost sure it was,
for something. I seem to remember it was a good place. Do you own it?
Really?"
"Ye-es, what there is of it."
"But there's a great deal of it. It's efficient. You've done your job.
That's more than most high-born aides-de-camp could say."
"Honestly? Well--I don't know----"
"Who did you play with in Schoenstrom? Oh, I wish I'd noticed that
town. But I couldn't tell then that---- What, uh, which girl did you
fall in love with?"
"None! Honest! None! Not one! Never fell in love----"
"You're unfortunate. I have, lots of times. I remember quite enjoying
being kissed once, at a dance."
When he answered, his voice was strange: "I suppose you're engaged to
somebody."
"No. And I don't know that I shall be. Once, I thought I liked a man,
rather. He has nice eyes and the most correct spectacles, and he is
polite to his mother at breakfast, and his name is Jeff, and he will
undoubtedly be worth five or six hundred thousand dollars, some day, and
his opinions on George Moore and commercial paper are equally sound and
unoriginal---- Oh, I ought not to speak of him, and I certainly ought
not to be spiteful. I'm not at all reticent and ladylike, am I! But----
Somehow I can't see him out here, against a mountain of jagged rock."
"Only you won't always be out here against mountains. Some day you'll be
back in--where is it in New York State?"
"I confess it's Brooklyn--but not what you'd mean by Brooklyn. Your
remark shows you to have subtlety. I must remember that, mustn't I! I
won't always be driving through this big land. But---- Will I get all
fussy and ribbon-tied again, when I go back?"
"No. You won't. You drive like a man."
"What has that----"
"It has a lot to do with it. A garage man can trail along behind another
car and figger out, figure out, just about what kind of a person the
driver is from the way he handles his boat. Now you bite into the job.
You drive pretty neat--neatly. You don't either scoot too far out of the
road in passing a car, or take corners too wide. You won't be fussy. But
still, I suppose you'll be glad to be back among your own folks and
you'll forget the wild Milt that tagged along----"
"Milt--or Mr. Daggett--no, Milt! I shall never, in my oldest grayest
year, in a ducky cap by the fireplace, forget the half-second when your
hand came flashing along, and caught that man on the running-board. But
it wasn't just that melodrama. If that hadn't happened, something else
would have, to symbolize you. It's that you--oh, you took me in, a
stranger, and watched over me, and taught me the customs of the country,
and were never impatient. No, I shan't forget that; neither of the
Boltwoods will."