ans and things I thought I'd like
to see, so I just put my suitcase and Vere de Vere in the machine, and
started out. I burn distillate instead of gas, so it doesn't cost much.
If I ever happen to have five whole dollars, why, I might go on to
Japan!"

"That would be jolly."

"Though I s'pose I'd have to eat--what is it?--pickled fish? There's a
woman from near my town went to the Orient as a missionary. From what
she says, I guess all you need in Japan to make a house is a bottle of
mucilage and a couple of old newspapers and some two-by-fours. And you
can have the house on a purple mountain, with cherry trees down below,
and----" He put his clenched hand to his lips. His head was bowed. "And
the ocean! Lord! The ocean! And we'll see it at Seattle. Bay, anyway.
And steamers there--just come from India! Huh! Getting pretty darn
poetic here! Eggs are done."

The young man did not again wander into visions. He was all briskness as
he served her bacon and eggs, took a plate of them to Mr. Boltwood in
the Gomez, gouged into his own. Having herself scoured the tin plates,
Claire was not repulsed by their naked tinniness; and the coffee in the
broken-handled china cup was tolerable. Milt drank from the top of a
vacuum bottle. He was silent. Immediately after the lunch he stowed the
things away. Claire expected a drawn-out, tact-demanding farewell, but
he climbed into his bug, said "Good-by, Miss Boltwood. Good luck!" and
was gone.

The rainy road was bleakly empty without him.

It did not seem possible that Claire's body could be nagged into going
on any longer. Her muscles were relaxed, her nerves frayed. But the
moment the Gomez started, she discovered that magic change which every
long-distance motorist knows. Instantly she was alert, seemingly able to
drive forever. The pilot's instinct ruled her; gave her tireless eyes
and sturdy hands. Surely she had never been weary; never would be, so
long as it was hers to keep the car going.

She had driven perhaps six miles when she reached a hamlet called St.
Klopstock. On the bedraggled mud-and-shanty main street a man was
loading crushed rock into a truck. By him was a large person in a
prosperous raincoat, who stepped out, held up his hand. Claire stopped.

"You the young lady that got stuck in that hole by Adolph Zolzac's?"

"Yes. And Mr. Zolzac wasn't very nice about it."

"He's going to be just elegant about it, now, and there ain't going to
be any more hole. I th