crowds, the mechanism of
submarines, palm trees, gracious women.

He laid down the magazine. He stared at the wall. He thought about
nothing. He seemed to be fumbling for something about which he could
deliciously think if he could but grasp it. Without quite visualizing
either wall or sea, he was yet recalling old dreams of a moonlit wall by
a warm stirring southern sea. If there was a girl in the dream she was
intangible as the scent of the night. Presently he was asleep, a not at
all romantic figure, rather ludicrously tipped to one side in his office
chair, his large solid shoes up on the desk.

He half woke, and filtered to what he called home--one room in the
cottage of an oldish woman who had prejudices against the perilous night
air. He was too sleepy to go through any toilet save pulling off his
shoes, and achieving an unconvincing wash at the little stand, whose
crackly varnish was marked with white rings from the toothbrush mug.

"I feel about due to pull off some fool stunt. Wonder what it will be?"
he complained, as he flopped on the bed.

He was up at six, and at a quarter to seven was at work in the garage.
He spent a large part of the morning in trying to prove to a customer
that even a Teal car, best at the test, would not give perfect service
if the customer persisted in forgetting to fill the oil-well, the
grease-cups, and the battery.

At three minutes after twelve Milt left the garage to go to dinner. The
fog of the morning had turned to rain. McGolwey was not at the Old Home.
Sometimes Mac got tired of serving meals, and for a day or two he took
to a pocket flask, and among his former customers the cans of prepared
meat at Rauskukle's became popular. Milt found him standing under the
tin awning of the general store. He had a troubled hope of keeping Mac
from too long a vacation with the pocket flask. But Mac was already
red-eyed. He seemed only half to recognize Milt.

"Swell day!" said Milt.

"Y' bet."

"Road darn muddy."

"I should worry. Yea, bo', I'm feelin' good!"

At eleven minutes past twelve a Gomez-Dep roadster appeared down the
road, stopped at the garage. To Milt it was as exciting as the
appearance of a comet to a watching astronomer.

"What kind of a car do you call that, Milt?" asked a loafer.

"Gomez-Deperdussin."

"Never heard of it. Looks too heavy."

This was sacrilege. Milt stormed, "Why, you poor floof, it's one of the
best cars in the world. Imported from Fra