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Boltwood, in the tone of one who has come home. Claire was grateful to Jeff that he did not let her go on being grateful. He turned the talk to Brooklyn. He was neat and explicit and almost funny in his description of an outdoor presentation of Midsummer Night's Dream, in which a domestic and intellectual lady weighing a hundred and eighty-seven stageside had enacted Puck.
With all the pleasure of martyrdom to make quite sure that he should realize how complete a fool he had been to intrude on Miss Boltwood he studied the other guests. He gave them, perhaps, a glory they did not have. There were girls sleek as ivory. There was a lean stooped man, very distinguished.
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.
"I used to be swimming instructor in a gymnasium," proceeded Burton, "and as soon as we reached Avalon I made a deal with Mynie Boltwood, who owns a boat, and we took to snorkin' the tourists. Gerald was still the tightwad, and I couldn't live on prospects, no matter how rosy they might be. Sunday afternoon, while I was out diving, Gerald and Bob called on Lopez.
Boltwood, who ceased the elaborate smoking of cigars, dusted his hands, and gravely obeyed, while Claire was awaiting the new captain's command to throw on the power. "I wish we weren't under so much obligation to this young man," said Mr. Boltwood, after one crisis. "I know but what can we do?" "Don't you suppose we might pay him?" "Henry B. Boltwood, if you tried to do that I'm not sure.
Back East they had a chauffeur and two cars the limousine, and the Gomez-Deperdussin roadster, Claire's beloved. It would, she believed, be more of a change from everything that might whisper to Mr. Boltwood of the control of men, not to take a chauffeur. Her father never drove, but she could, she insisted. His easy agreeing was pathetic. He watched her with spaniel eyes.
"Well right, Mynie Boltwood! Steady it is, now, and we'll pick up the two in the water." "Never mind me, Clancy," sang out Hill, who had come to the surface, and was swimming easily despite the weight of the wet clothing he had on. "Burton is purty nigh tuckered. Take care o' him first."
And still is it a place of wealth too solid to emulate the nimble self-advertising of Fifth Avenue. Here dwell the fifth-generation possessors of blocks of foundries and shipyards. Here, in a big brick house of much dignity, much ugliness, and much conservatory, lived Claire Boltwood, with her widower father. Henry B. Boltwood was vice-president of a firm dealing in railway supplies.
This Boltwood? Hotel in Kalispell trying to locate you, for two hours. Been telephoning all along the line, from Butte to Somers." "W-well, w-will you g-get 'em for me?" It was not Milt's placid and slightly twangy voice but one smoother, more decisive, perplexingly familiar, that finally vibrated, "Hello! Hello! Miss Boltwood! Operator, I can't hear. Get me a better connection. Miss Boltwood?"
To see Dakota car licenses everywhere, instead of Minnesota, was like the sensation of street signs in a new language. And when she found a good hotel in Fargo and had a real bath, she felt that by her own efforts she had earned the right to enjoy it. Mr. Boltwood caught her enthusiasm.
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