"Good. Then I can drive on nice and alone, without having to pound your
ears off?"
"Certainly. That is--we'll compromise. You take me on just a few miles,
into more settled country, and I'll leave you."
So it chanced that Milt was still inescapably accompanied by Mr. Pinky
Parrott, that evening, when he saw Claire's Gomez standing in the yard
at Barmberry's and pulled up.
Pinky had voluntarily promised not to use his eloquence on Claire, nor
to try to borrow money from Mr. Boltwood. Without ever having quite won
permission to stay, he had stayed. He had also carried out his promise
to buy his half of the provisions by adding a five-cent bag of lemon
drops to Milt's bacon and bread.
When they had stopped, Milt warned, "There's their machine now. Seems to
be kind of a hotel here. I'm going in and say howdy. Good-by, Pink. Glad
to have met you, but I expect you to be gone when I come out here again.
If you aren't---- Want granite or marble for the headstone? I mean it,
now!"
"I quite understand, my lad. I admire your chivalric delicacy. Farewell,
old compagnon de voyage!"
Milt inquired of Mr. Barmberry whether the Boltwoods were within, and
burst into the parlor-living-room-library. As he cried to Claire, by the
fire, "Thought I'd never catch up with you," he was conscious that
standing up, talking to Mr. Boltwood, was an old-young man, very suave,
very unfriendly of eye. He had an Oxford-gray suit, unwrinkled cordovan
shoes; a pert, insultingly well-tied blue bow tie, and a superior narrow
pink bald spot. As he heard Jeff Saxton murmur, "Ah. Mr. Daggett!" Milt
felt the luxury in the room--the fleecy robe over Claire's shoulders,
the silver box of candy by her elbow, the smell of expensive cigars, and
the portly complacence of Mr. Boltwood.
"Have you had any dinner?" Claire was asking, when a voice boomed, "Let
me introduce myself as Westlake Parrott."
Jeff abruptly took charge. He faced Pinky and demanded, "I beg pardon!"
Claire's eyebrows asked questions of Milt.
"This is a fellow I gave a lift to. Miner--I mean actor--well, kind of
spiritualistic medium----"
Mr. Boltwood, with the geniality of dinner and cigar, soothed, "Jeff,
uh, Daggett here has saved our lives two distinct times, and given us a
great deal of help. He is a motor expert. He has always refused to let
us do anything in return but---- I noticed there was almost a whole
fried chicken left. I wonder if he wouldn't share it with, uh, with his
acquaintance here before--before they make camp for the night?"
In civil and vicious tones Jeff began, "Very glad to reward any one who
has been of service to----"
He was drowned out by Pinky's effusive, "True hospitality is a virtue as
delicate as it is rare. We accept your invitation. In fact I should be
glad to have one of those cigarros elegantos that mine olfactory----"