Stubble Part 21

An hour later he clambered into his car and drove away.

CHAPTER XIV

What a curious question, that of Hawkins, "How did you come to get mixed up in this crowd?" And the inane response he had made to the counter as though it all were a mystery too vast for solution. Oh, well, Hawkins was a queer bird, inexpressive and glum and commonplace.

Could not be expected to register much. His thoughts probably were too rusty and old by the time they formed in his head to issue forth in sparkling deeds or words. Joe slipped a knot into his tie, gave his hair a final swipe with the brush, caught a quick glance at himself in the gla.s.s, and then rushed to the door and rattled down the stairs whistling.

It was a fine morning, the kind that gave one lots of "pep," high cloudless sky, dazzling sun, hot and bracing. The morning paper had a column on the first page listing the names of those who had succ.u.mbed to the heat; but Joe had no eyes for such morbid news. A man never felt the heat when he had plenty of good work to do and was in good shape, and things were going well with him. Funny, how much suffering of any sort was due entirely to the state of mind. He whistled as he swung along on his way to the garage. And when he stepped into the door of the garage office he mopped his streaming face and shouted to the night man who was just leaving, "'D you get those gaskets put into the old boat, Harry?"

"Whadda you think this is?" growled the man, "a mad-house? This ain't no flivver fact'ry--build you a car while you change yer s.h.i.+rt--course I ain't changed them gaskets." Harry clumped sullenly out of the door and down the street, keeping close to the wall, in the shade. Harry was an old married man and his feet were leaden. Joe chuckled as he gazed after him speculatively. And then he pa.s.sed through the door back into the shop.

It was Sat.u.r.day and only four hours till noon. There were no demonstrations scheduled for the afternoon. There was not a flaw in the sky. And yet the morning dragged. The streets were hot; great waves of heat came curling up from the asphalt, which was soft and gummy and showed the ruts of pa.s.sing tires.

Toward twelve things began to quicken. Two or three insignificant details brazenly presented themselves and Joe fell upon them with feverish irritation. For a time they threatened to encroach upon a golden afternoon. A lady had sent in an inquiry about a winter top; Mrs. LeMasters was having trouble with her doors squeaking. They could just as well have waited until Monday.

It was two o'clock when he finally quieted Mrs. LeMasters, using a small oil can on the hinges and a few honeyed words upon her ruffled spirits. He drew a deep breath of exasperation and relief as he clambered into his car and drove away. He looked at his watch, paused a moment in deep thought, stopping his car dead in the middle of the street and was almost run over from behind by a nervous, excitable "flivver." The driver waved at him wildly, shouting obscenities as he swerved past and went careening down the street.

He would not have time to eat lunch. There was so much to do.

Inspired, he stopped at a corner drug store and gulped down a malted milk. Then with enforced calm, and with a glance at the clock, he brushed down his clothes, looked at himself in the gla.s.s above the counter, and walked with much careless aplomb out to the car. He had timed it to a nicety.

When he got out of the car in front of the Macomber dwelling he had another struggle to keep from appearing self-conscious. As he approached the house a rosy little vision of the afternoon in prospect flitted into his mind. He glanced patronizingly at the sky. Never had there been serener blue. Descending a notch, he caught a surrept.i.tious glimpse at upstairs windows. The one above the front door was chastely shrouded by inside shutters. But through a slight gap and beneath a raised sash he saw a flutter of white and turned away his eyes. It was _her_ room. He pulled the old bell k.n.o.b and stood thoughtfully humming to himself on the steps.

No one came. Slightly jarred, he realized it and pulled the bell again. He stopped humming. Quite a while he waited, in growing irritation. The bell was probably broken. After many minutes--it may have been two--he stepped to the edge of the porch and speculated on going around to the back, when the door flew suddenly open and Mrs.

Macomber stood peering at him through the screen.

He jerked off his hat. "How do you do?" and gave her a radiant smile.

Mrs. Macomber scowled. She was an impregnable griffin even in still life. She had on an untidy ap.r.o.n and her hair was squeezed back from her yellow, greasy face.

"Well?" she said.

"I've--er--Miss Myrtle?" sparkled Joe, conquering the vapours.

"Not in," said Mrs. Macomber shortly.

Joe fell back a step. The shadows swept down upon him. For a moment he was at a loss for words. "But--Mrs. Macomber--we were going to Stony Point this afternoon!" He was aghast, and he bared his feelings to the world before he sank in the engulfing sea of negation. "Are you sure?"

Mrs. Macomber smiled grimly. "My eyes haven't gone back on me entirely, I reckon."

Joe stepped up to the level of the porch which stood inviting off to the right. "Listen, Mrs. Macomber," he began, striving to be respectful. "What's wrong?" In the face of the threatening debacle he could not calmly let matters drift. He felt himself rus.h.i.+ng into action.

Mrs. Macomber considered and then apparently made up her mind. She opened the door and stepped out upon the vine-covered porch. For a moment she stood facing him as if taking in her ground. There was something deep and lurking and resentful in her narrow eyes.

"Well, I'll tell you," she began. "You've been taking up a mighty lot of Myrtle's time here, lately."

He sinkingly realized the truth of this statement as he felt the fixity of her gaze. He was silent. The front door opened over to his left, but he was too absorbed to notice. There was a sound of someone stirring in the vestibule.

Mrs. Macomber did not like his silence. She had decided on conflict.

"A man's got no right to take up a girl's time unless he means right by her. Just because a girl's good lookin' 's no sign she's a play-thing for any Tom, d.i.c.k, or Harry comes along."

Joe was stunned by the baldness of the statement.

"But, Mrs. Macomber," he managed to stammer, "I didn't know that's the way Myrtle--Miss Macomber felt about it. I'm awfully sorry----"

"Keeps other men away," she interrupted him ruthlessly, determined to have her say. "Spoils everything for her. She's just a young girl----"

"There, there, Ma," broke in a voice. Mr. Macomber joined the group, a sheepish, kindly look upon his face, and raising a restraining hand.

He came and took Joe by the shoulder. There was something familiar in his round, stolid face. "Don't take on so. Gonna get a cigar. Wouldn't you like one?" he added casually to Joe, at the same time propelling him to the steps.

Joe felt he was being manipulated. He turned again in a desperate effort to regain some of the lost ground and his tone was very respectful, quite abject.

"Mrs. Macomber, please accept my humble apologies. Perhaps I should have spoken to you." He struggled. A final shred of self-respect prevented him from laying bare the throbbings of his heart, or perhaps it was a tiny, rising suspicion of doubt. There were signs of dross in his vision of pure gold. "I hope," he concluded, "that you will give me a chance to square myself."

The old woman glared at him, blocking the doorway, like a faithful dragon at the castle gates where sleeps the queen of beauty.

"Sure you will," insisted Mr. Macomber, still urging him forward. He seemed distressed in a vague sort of way.

They sauntered out of the gate, prisoner and captive, to the corner drug store. Joe mechanically selected a cigar from a proffered box.

Mr. Macomber did likewise and gravely and deliberately clipped the end in the mechanical clipper on the counter, lighted it, and took a few ruminative puffs, gazing at the ceiling. Then he and Joe walked slowly to the street.

"Women fly off the handle," he ventured at length without looking at Joe. "You mustn't mind what the old lady says."

"She misunderstood," said Joe. "I suppose I was a bit too much on the job." It was not easy to express himself and he laughed nervously.

"But I don't think you can blame me much." He looked at the old man for encouragement and found none. "What I can't understand is, that nothing was said to me before. It could have been prevented if it was so objectionable. You don't think there is anything wrong, do you?"

Mr. Macomber shook his head and Joe proceeded to vent the vials of his dismay. A taxi driver escaping from the drug store pa.s.sed them as they were absorbed in their conversation and stared at them in curiosity.

The old man stood chewing his cigar, his eyes on the ground, the breeze softly ruffing the nebulous hairs that fringed his bald head.

Joe concluded his oration. There was nothing more he could add. And Mr. Macomber, raising his eyes, looked at him frankly. "Seen you before, ain't I? Used to be at Bromley's?"

"Yes."

"I'm foreman there. Cultivator room."

And Joe remembered. It did not exactly add to his satisfaction. "Sure you are," and he tried to make his voice heartily friendly.

They walked slowly back toward the house. At the gate they paused for an awkward moment, and then Mr. Macomber held out his hand.

"See you again," he said. "Don't worry about what the old lady said to you. It's the heat. It's all right. It's all right." He turned to go.

He had made no reference to Myrtle at all.

It was over. Joe stood on the curbing and watched the st.u.r.dy figure in its sagging vest and collarless s.h.i.+rt plod up the walk to the house.

He could not help looking furtively for just a glance at that upstairs window and caught a flash of white and then vacuity. And then crestfallen and hot and sullen and ashamed, he sprang into the car and drove away.

On his way down Broadway he had a puncture. Fortunately it occurred just half a block away from the "k.u.m-quik Tire Company's" repair shop.

He covered that half block on a flat tire and went in for help.