Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 27, 2025
He raised his head, glanced at her, and he was blushing again. "Her name is Vere de Vere!" he confessed. Then he fled back to his bug. He drove it in front of the Gomez-Dep. The hole in the road itself was as deep as the one on the edge of the cornfield, where she was stuck, but he charged it. She was fascinated by his skill.
At twenty-five, when Claire Boltwood chose to come tearing through his life in a Gomez-Dep, Milt was the owner, manager, bookkeeper, wrecking crew, ignition expert, thoroughly competent bill-collector, and all but one of the working force of the Red Trail Garage.
They scooped up what little business there was, and escaped from the Leipzig House to spend the night at St. Cloud or Sauk Centre. In the larger towns in Minnesota and Dakota, after evening movies, before slipping out to his roadside camp Milt inserted himself into a circle of traveling men in large leather chairs, and ventured, "Saw a Gomez-Dep with a New York license down the line today." "Oh.
She felt like a woman, not like a driver. But the Gomez-Dep roadster had seventy horsepower, and sang songs. Since she had left Minneapolis nothing had passed her. Back yonder a truck had tried to crowd her, and she had dropped into a ditch, climbed a bank, returned to the road, and after that the truck was not.
He could understand a Gomez-Dep and appreciate a brisk sports-suit, but this girl was of a world unintelligible to him. Her hair, in its dips and convolutions, was altogether a puzzle. "How did she ever fix it like that?" Her low evening dress "what was it made of some white stuff, but was it silk or muslin or what?"
"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."
"You don't say so!" Milt answered in surprise. "Well, if I promised to take you, I'll keep my word." He vaulted out, tucked Vere de Vere into the seat, protecting her from the rain with the tarpaulin winter radiator-cover. His rut-skipping car overtook the mud-walloping Gomez-Dep in an hour, and pulled it out of the mud.
"No more Teals for me," he cried, in the ecstasy of handling an engine that slowed to a demure whisper, then, at a touch of the accelerator, floated up a rise, effortless, joyous, humming the booming song of the joy in speed. He suddenly hated the bucking tediousness of the Teal. The Gomez-Dep symbolized his own new life.
I seen a woman come through here yesterday that was swell, though had on a purple dress and white shoes and a hat big 's a bushel." "Well, I don't know, I kind of like those simple things," apologized Milt. He crept toward the garage. The girl was inside. He inspected the slope-topped, patent-leather motoring trunk on the rack at the rear of the Gomez-Dep.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking