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Updated: June 29, 2025
You're quite a ways from home, aren't you?" "Apparently." "Hamnegs roasbeef roaspork thapplesauce frypickerel springlamintsauce." "I I beg your pardon." The waitress repeated. "I oh oh, bring us ham and eggs. Is that all right, father?" "Oh no well " "You wanted same?" the waitress inquired of Mr. Boltwood. He was intimidated. He said, "If you please," and feebly pawed at a fork.
"Milt, you sit here by the fire and get warm. I'm not going to be robbed of the egotistic pleasure of being hospitable. Everybody look happy now!" She got them all seated all but Pinky. He had long since seated himself, by the fire, in Claire's chair, and he was smoking a cigar from the box which Jeff had brought for Mr. Boltwood. Milt sat farthest from the fire, by the dining-table.
Their satisfaction in his allegiance would have been lessened, however, had they known how little he cared for what they thought of him, and with what cruel directness he was using them as models for the one purpose of pleasing Miss Claire Boltwood.
Boltwood solved the situation by hemming, "Must trot in and wash. See you very soon." Mr. James Barmberry and the squad of lesser Barmberrys regretfully followed. Claire was alone with Jeff, and she was frightened. Yet she was admitting that Jeff, in his English cap and flaring London top-coat, his keen smile and his extreme shavedness, was more attractive than she had remembered.
We'd have learned archery! Lonely little boy on the doorstep!" Her fingers just touched his sleeve. In her gesture, the ember-light caught the crystal of her wrist watch. She stooped to peer at it, and her pitying tenderness broke off in an agitated: "Heavings! Is it that late? To bed! Good night, Milt." "Good night, Cl Miss Boltwood." "No. 'Claire, of course.
But you do keep on punishing ra " "Punishing? Lord, I didn't mean to! No! Honest! It was nothing. You were right. Looked as though I was inviting myself But, oh, pleassssse, Miss Boltwood, don't ever think for a sec. that I meant to be a grouch " "Then do tell me Who is this Milton Daggett that you know so much better than I ever can?"
Under his blankets Mr. Boltwood thought of rattlesnakes, bears, rheumatism, Brooklyn, his debt to Milt, and the fact that though he hadn't happened to mention it to Claire he had expected to be killed when the brake had burned out. Claire was drowsily happy. She had got through.
"Why back there, couple miles behind you, maybe I saw your father get up and try to wrestle him, so I suspected there was kind of a disagreement. Say, Miss Boltwood, you know when you spoke to me way back there I hadn't meant to butt in. Honest. I thought maybe as we were going " "Oh, I know!"
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!"
In the country of long hillslopes and sentinel buttes between the Dakota Bad Lands and Miles City she stopped to shout to a man whose plodding heavy back looked fagged, "Want a ride?" "Sure! You bet!" Usually her guests stepped on the right-hand running-board, beside Mr. Boltwood, and this man was far over on the right side of the road.
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