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Updated: June 29, 2025
Claire Boltwood, of Brooklyn Heights, went through the shanty streets of Pellago, Montana, at one A.M. carrying a sandwich in a paper bag which had recently been used for salted peanuts, and a red rubber hot-water bag filled with water at the Alaska Café. At the Tavern she hastened past the office door.
"Our young friend seems to have enviable youthful spirits," commented Mr. Boltwood. "Now, no superiority! He's probably never seen a real vaudeville show. Wouldn't it be fun to take him to the Winter Garden or the Follies for the first time!... Instead of being taken by Jeff Saxton, and having the humor, oh! so articulately explained!"
He listlessly telephoned to Claire, in the morning. "Hello? Oh! Miss Boltwood? This is Milt Daggett." "Oh! Oh, how are you?" "Why, why I'm I've got settled. I can get into the engineering school all right." "I'm glad." "Uh, enjoying Seattle?" "Oh! Oh yes. The mountains Do you like it?" "Oh! Oh yes. Sea and all Great town." "Uh, w-when are we going to see you?
Her father was silent, a misty figure in a lap-robe. The rain streaked the mica lights in the side-curtains. A distant train whistled desolately across the sodden fields. The inside of the car smelled musty. The quiet was like a blanket over the ears. Claire was in a hazy drowse. She felt that she could never drive again. Claire Boltwood lived on the Heights, Brooklyn.
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 about finances, one with Claire about mysterious persons called Fannie and Alden and Chub and Bobbie and Dot, the mention of whom made Milt realize how much a stranger he was. Once, as he passed by Claire, Jeff said gently, "You are lovely!" Only that, and he did not look at her. But Milt saw that Claire flushed, and her eyes dimmed.
What business you say your father's in?" "I didn't say, but Oh, railroad." "G. N. or N. P.?" "I don't think I quite understand " Mr. Boltwood interposed, "Are the ham and eggs ready?" "I'll beat it out and see." When she brought them, she put a spoon in Claire's saucer of peas, and demanded, "Say, you don't wear that silk dress in the auto, do you?" "No."
So it chanced that Milt was still inescapably accompanied by Mr. Pinky Parrott, that evening, when he saw Claire's Gomez standing in the yard at Barmberry's and pulled up. Pinky had voluntarily promised not to use his eloquence on Claire, nor to try to borrow money from Mr. Boltwood. Without ever having quite won permission to stay, he had stayed.
And he hated himself for not being enough of a genius to combine Bill McGolwey and Claire Boltwood. But not once, in his maelstrom of worry on that street corner, did he expect Claire to like Bill. Through all his youthful agonizing, he had enough common sense to know that though Claire might conquer a mountain pass, she could never be equal to the social demands of Schoenstrom and Bill McGolwey.
"Yes. We ought to have a good run, sir." The "sir" came hard. The historian puts forth a theory that Milt had got it out of fiction. "We might go up over Mount Washburn. Take us up to ten thousand feet." "Uh, you said didn't Miss Boltwood tell me that you are going to Seattle, too?" "Yes." "Friends there, no doubt?" Milt grinned irresistibly. "Not a friend. But I'm going to make 'em.
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