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Updated: May 20, 2025
"How far are we from a railway station?" she asked desperately, when her watch said that they had sat by the Santa Ana's bedside for thirty-five minutes. "Can't tell you that, ma'am," snapped Sealman. "But it's too far to walk, unless you've got seven-league boots." "What's the matter? Haven't you found out yet?" "Thought it might be the pump. But it doesn't seem to be. I give it up!"
And when the codfish, whose name was Sealman, asked her where she would go for a trial spin, she said that he might take her to the shop of Barrymore the jeweller. But that was when Kate had disappeared into the hotel. The automobile ran quietly, and the springs, as the codfish said, were "grasshoppers."
But Mr. Sealman never lost confidence. He explained everything, justified himself and the car; told anecdotes of his courage, and let fall pathetic words concerning an invalid mother dependent on him and his success. "I'm a pioneer, I tell you," he said. "You and I are making history this minute." Angela would gladly have turned from so lurid an occupation to any other pursuit; but Mr.
Yes, the clerk happened to know that it was engaged for the next three days, perhaps longer, to a young lady in the hotel who intended to do some touring in the neighbourhood. "Contract all fixed up?" asked Nick. Everything was arranged; had just been settled; in fact, Mr. Sealman had gone home.
They started off for a run through bungalow-land, and the Model conducted itself like a newly converted sinner. "I've been thinking out a dandy plan, while I was tinkering on the auto," remarked Mr. Sealman in an engaging manner. "What do you say to doing a tour of the Missions? You know, I guess, there's a chain of 'em, and the fine thing it would be to see the lot by road!
Of the car's health he said nothing, but of his mother's health he said much. She had suffered a relapse. The doctor had been with her all night. How Sealman was going to pay the bill he did not know. Would Mrs. May go to Santa Catalina Island this morning, and to Riverside to-morrow? There was time to catch the boat. The doctor's bill was a trump card.
Angela could have told him a great deal more than he had told her, about these "scientific processes," for her father had been one of the men most interested in their success. But she kept her knowledge to herself. "Yes, it's wonderful," she replied. "But don't you think we'd better be going on? We've a long way before us, according to the map." "Yes, we'll go right on," said Sealman.
Thad Smith, a fellow who made a pile of money, had the thing built to order, and it brought him bad luck lost every cent the day she was finished, and he's been trying to sell her ever since. I wouldn't take her for a present." Angela leaned back, hiding a smile behind her motor veil. She did not believe that Mr. Sealman would have the offer.
Now, if anything happened, he was ready. Sealman had the air of slowing down, after an unusually long nonstop run, to show off his acquaintance with the country. "That great sandy stretch is the bed of the Santa Ana," said he. "Why, there's so much sand and so little water mostly, they have to sprinkle the bed to keep it from flyin' about the landscape, as if 'twas a pile o' feathers.
And the redemption of the bag was to be a dead secret. "Back to the hotel, please; and I'll engage your car for the next three or four days," said Mrs. May to Sealman, suddenly full of kindness for him and all the world. Nick sat in the window of a better hotel than Angela's.
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