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They did something for you, and you paid them preferably not too much and they ceased to be. Whereas Milt Daggett respectfully but stolidly continued to be, and Mr. Henry Boltwood's own daughter was halting the march of affairs by asking irrelevant questions: "Didn't we see you back in what was that village we came through back about twelve miles?" "Schoenstrom?" suggested Milt.
Johnny Kloh, with an unrestricted view of tin cans!" lamented Claire. "Still, your drive didn't end at Kloh's; it ended way up in the mountains." Mr. Boltwood bumbled down on them: "Another minute late! Like to know what the matter is!" "Yes, father!" When Mr. Boltwood's impatiently waiting back was turned, Claire gripped Milt's hand, and whispered to him, "You see, I'm captured!
Boltwood's manner did not merely avoid Milt; it abolished him. She saw Milt, after five minutes of stationary watching, start forward. He came dustily rattling up with a hail of "Distributor on strike again?" so cheerful that it hurt her to dismiss him. But she had managed a household. She was able to say suavely: "No, everything is fine. I'm sure it will be, now.
Scientists may be interested in their discovery that as a substitute for both cream and sugar in beverages strawberry jam is a fallacy. For Mr. Boltwood's bed Milt hauled out the springy seat-cushions of both cars. The Gomez cushion was three inches thicker than that of the bug, which resulted in a mattress two stories in front with a lean-to at the foot, and the entire edifice highly slippery.
Boltwood's sleeve, brushed the crumb from in front of Claire to a shelter beneath the pink and warty sugar bowl, recovered a toothpick which had been concealed behind her glowing lips, picked for a while, gave it up, put her hands on her hips, and addressed Claire: "How far you going?" "To Seattle." "Got any folks there?" "Any Oh, yes, I suppose so." "Going to stay there long?"
Barmberry contributed, "he told me if I did catch you, I was to have some new-killed chickens ready to fry, and some whipped cream Jim Barmberry, you go right out and finish whipping that cream, and don't stand there gawping and gooping, and you children, you scat!" Claire seized the moment of Mr. Boltwood's lordly though bewildered bow to their hostess, and escaped outdoors.
Thus Claire Boltwood's first voyage into democracy. It was not so much that the sun was shining, in the morning, as that a ripple of fresh breeze came through the window. She discovered that she again longed to go on keep going on see new places, conquer new roads. She didn't want all good road. She wanted something to struggle against. She'd try it for one more day.
"There's a magnolious medico ahead here on the pass," Pinky Parrott interrupted. "A young thing, but they say he's a graduate of Harvard. He's out here because he has some timber-claims. Look, Milt o' the Daggett, why don't you drive Miss Boltwood's 'bus make better time, and hustle the old gent up to the doc, and I'll come on behind with your machine." "Why," Claire fretted, "I hate "
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