Burned Bridges by Bertrand W. Sinclair (bearly read books txt) 📕

A

Leisurely Fashion,  To Be A Careless Trudger For A Day. True,  He Was

Saving Carfare,  But He Observed Dryly That He Was Expending Many

Dollars' Worth Of Energy--To Say Nothing Of Shoe Leather. The Pleasure

Of Walking,  Paradoxically,  Was Best Achieved By Sitting Still In The

Shade. A Midday Sun Was Softening The Asphalt With Its Fierce Blaze. He

Looked Idly At Passing Machines And Wondered What The Occupants Thereof

Would Say If He Halted One And Demanded A Ride. He Smiled.

 

He Stared After A Passing Sedan Driven By A Uniformed Chauffeur,  One

Half The Rear Seat Occupied By A Fat,  Complacent Woman,  The Other Half

Of The Ten-Inch Upholstery Given Over To An Equally Fat And Complacent

Bulldog. And While He Reflected In Some Little Amusement At The

Circumstance Which Gave A Pampered Animal The Seat Of Honor In A

Six-Thousand-Dollar Car And Sent An Able-Bodied Young Man Trudging Down

Chapter 11 (A Meeting By The Way) Pg 91

The Road In The Heat And The Dust,  Another Machine Came Humming Up From

The South.

 

It Was A Red Car,  Crowding The State Limit For Speed,  And It Swept Down

On Thompson With A Subdued Purr Like A Great Cat Before A Fire. When It

Was Almost Abreast Of Him There Burst From It A Crack Like The Report Of

A Shotgun. There Was Just A Perceptible Wabble Of The Machine. Its Hot

Pace Slackened Abruptly. It Rolled Past And Came To A Stop Beside The

Road Fifty Yards Along--A Massive Brute Of A Red Roadster Driven By A

Slim Girl In A Pongee Suit,  A Girl Whose Bare Head Was Bound About With

Heavy Braids Of Corn-Yellow Hair.

 

Thompson Half Rose--Then Sank Back In Momentary Indecision. Perhaps It

Were Wiser To Let Sleeping Dogs Lie. Then He Smiled At The Incongruity

Of That Proverb Applied To Sophie Carr.

 

He Sat Watching The Machine For A Minute. The Halting Of Its Burst Of

Speed Was No Mystery To Thompson. Miss Carr Proceeded With Calm

Deliberation. She First Resurrected A Panama Hat From Somewhere In The

Seat Beside Her And Pinned It Atop Of Her Head. Then She Got Out,  Walked

Around To The Front Wheel,  Poked It Tentatively Once Or Twice,  And

Proceeded About The Business Of Getting Out A Jack And A Toolkit.

 

By The Time Thompson Decided That In Common Decency He Should Offer To

Lend A Hand And Thus Was Moved To Rise And Approach The Disabled Car She

Had The Jack Under The Front Axle And Was Applying A Brace Wrench To The

Rim Bolts. But The Rim Bolts That Hold On A Five-Inch Tire Are Not

Designed To Unscrew Too Easily. Sophie Had Started One With An Earnest

Tug And Was Twisting Stoutly At The Second When He Reached Her. He Knew

By The Impersonal Glance She Gave Him That He Was To Her Merely A Casual

Stranger.

 

"May I Help You?" He Said Politely. "A Big Tire Is Rather Hard To

Handle."

 

Sophie Bestowed Another Level Look Upon Him As She Straightened Up From

Her Task. A Puzzled Expression Showed Briefly In Her Gray Eyes. But She

Handed Him The Wrench Without Parley.

 

"Thanks,  If You Will," She Said. "These Rim Bolts Are Fearfully Stiff. I

Daresay I Could Manage It Though. I've Done It On A Lighter Car. But

It's A Man's Job,  Really."

 

Thompson Laid Off His Coat And Set To Work Silently,  Withholding Speech

For A Double Reason. He Could Not Trust His Tongue,  And He Was Not Given

To Inconsequential Chatter. If She Did Not Recognize Him--Well,  There

Was No Good Reason Why She Should Remember,  If She Chose Not To

Remember. He Could Lend A Hand And Go His Way,  Just As He Would Have

Been Moved To Lend A Hand To Any One In Like Difficulty.

 

He Twisted Out The Bolt-Heads,  Turned The Lugs,  Pulled The Rim Clear Of

The Wheel. He Stood Up To Get The Spare Tire From Its Place Behind. And

He Caught Sophie Staring At Him,  Astonishment,  Surprise,  Inquiry All

Blended In One Frank Stare. But Still She Did Not Speak.

 

He Trundled The Blow-Out Casing To The Rear,  Took Off The One Ready

Inflated,  And Speedily Had It Fast In Its Appointed Position On The

Wheel.

Chapter 11 (A Meeting By The Way) Pg 92

And Still Sophie Carr Did Not Speak. She Leaned Against The Car Body. He

Felt Her Eyes Upon Him,  Questioning,  Appraising,  Critical,  While He

Released The Jack,  Gathered Up The Tools,  And Tied Them Up In The Roll

On The Running Board.

 

"There You Are," He Found Himself Facing Her,  His Tongue Giving Off

Commonplace Statements,  While His Heart Thumped Heavily In His Breast.

"Ready For The Road Again."

 

"Do You Remember What Donald Lachlan Used To Say?" Sophie Answered

Irrelevantly. "Long Time I See You No. Eh,  Mr. Thompson?"

 

She Held Out One Gloved Hand With Just The Faintest Suggestion Of A

Smile Hovering About Her Mouth. Thompson's Work-Roughened Fingers Closed

Over Her Small Soft Hand. He Towered Over Her,  Looking Down Wistfully.

 

"I Didn't Think You Knew Me," He Muttered.

 

Sophie Laughed. The Smile Expanded Roguishly. The Old,  Quizzical Twinkle

Flickered In Her Eyes.

 

"You Must Think My Memory Poor," She Replied. "You're Not One Of The

Peas In A Pod,  You Know. I Knew You,  And Still I Wasn't Sure. It Seemed

Scarcely Possible. It's A Long,  Long Way From The Santa Clara Valley To

Lone Moose."

 

"Yes," He Answered Calmly. "A Long Way--The Way I Came."

 

"In A Purely Geographical Sense?"

 

Her Voice Was Tinged With Gentle Raillery.

 

"Perhaps," He Answered Noncommittally.

 

It Dawned Upon Him That For All His Gladness To See Her--And He Was

Glad--He Nursed A Tiny Flame Of Resentment. He Had Come A Long Way

Measured On The Map,  And A Far Greater Distance Measured In Human

Experience,  In Spiritual Reckoning. If The Old Narrow Faith Had Failed

Him He Felt That Slowly And Surely He Was Acquiring A Faith That Would

Not Fail Him,  Because It Was Based On A Common Need Of Mankind. But He

Was Still Sure There Must Be A Wide Divergence In Their Outlook. He Was

Getting His Worldly Experience,  His Knowledge Of Material Factors,  Of

Men's Souls And Faiths And Follies And Ideals And Weaknesses In A Rude

School At First Hand--And Sophie Had Got Hers Out Of Books And Logical

Deductions From Critically Assembled Fact. There Was A Difference In The

Two Processes. He Knew,  Because He Had Tried Both. And Where The World

At Large Faced Him,  And Must Continue To Face Him,  Like An Enemy

Position,  Something To Be Stormed,  Very Likely With Fierce Fighting,  For

Sophie Carr It Had All Been Made Easy.

 

So He Did Not Follow Up That Conversational Lead. He Was Not Going To

Bare His Soul Offhand To Gratify Any Woman's Curiosity. It Would Be Very

Easy To Make A Blithering Ass Of Himself Again--With Her--Because Of

Her. Already He Was On His Guard Against That. His Pride Was Alert.

 

Sophie Stowed The Canvas Tool Roll Under The Seat Cushion. She Climbed

Chapter 11 (A Meeting By The Way) Pg 93

To Her Seat Behind The Steering Column And Turned To Thompson.

 

"Which Way Are You Bound?" She Asked. "I'll Give You A Lift,  And We Can

Talk."

 

"I'm On My Way To San Francisco," He Said. "But Time Is No Object In My

Young Life Right Now,  Or I'd Take The Interurban Instead Of Walking. It

Would Be Demoralizing To Me,  I'm Afraid,  To Whiz Down These Roads In A

Machine Like This."

 

Sophie Shoved The Opposite Door Open.

 

"Get In," She Let A Flavor Of Reproof Creep Into Her Tone. "Don't Talk

That Sort Of Nonsense."

 

Thompson Hesitated. He Was Suddenly Uncomfortable,  Conscious Of His

Dusty Clothes Somewhat The Worse For Wear,  His Shoes From Which The

Pristine Freshness Had Long Vanished,  The Day-Old Stubble On His Chin.

There Was A Depressing Contrast Between His Outward Condition And That

Of The Smartly Dressed Girl Whose Gray Eyes Were Resting Curiously On

Him Now.

 

"Do You Make A Practice Of Picking Up Tramps Along The Road?" He Parried

With An Effort At Lightness. He Wanted To Refuse Outright,  Yet Could Not

Utter The Words. "I'm Not Very Presentable."

 

"Get In. Don't Be Silly," She Said Impatiently. "You Don't Think I've

Become A Snob Just Because Chance Has Pitchforked Me Into The Ranks Of

The Idle Rich,  Do You?"

 

Thompson Laughed Awkwardly. There Was Real Feeling In Her Tone,  As If

She Had Read Correctly His Hesitation And Resented It. After All,  Why

Not? It Would Merely Be An Incident To Sophie Carr,  And It Would Save

Him Some Hot And Dusty Miles. He Got In.

 

"I'm Quite Curious To Know Where You've Been And What You've Been Doing

For The Last Year," She Said,  When The Red Car Was Once More Rolling

Toward The City At A Sedate Pace. "And By The Way,  Where Did You Learn

To Change A Tire So Smartly?"

 

"My Last Job," Thompson Told Her Truthfully,  "Was Washing Cars,

Greasing Up,  And Changing Tires In A Country Garage Down In The San

Juan." He Paused For A Moment. "Before That I Was Chaperon To A Stable

Full Of Horses On A Salinas Ranch. I've Tried Being A Carpenter's

Helper,  An Assistant Gardener,  Understudy To A Suburban Plumber--And

Other Things Too Numerous To Mention--In The Last Three Months. I Think

The Most Satisfactory Thing I've Tackled Was The Woods Up North,  Last

Fall."

 

"You Must Have Acquired Experience,  At Least,  Even If None Of Those

Things Proved An Efficient Method Of Making Money," She Returned

Lightly.

 

"A Man Like Me," He Remarked,  "Has First To Learn How To Make A Living

Before He Can Set About Making Money."

 

"Making Money Is Relative. Quite Often It Merely Means Making A Living

With An Extended Horizon," She Observed. "I Know A Man With A

Chapter 11 (A Meeting By The Way) Pg 94