"I notice they didn't keep her. Sent her home when she felt too bad to earn her pay."
Matthew Herring removed the mail from his lock box, snapped it shut, and turned about; his high, thin shoulders stooped a little; his long, reserved face expressionless. "You oughtn't to say things like that, Henry," he observed. "We know what you say never means anything; but strangers might take you seriously." He nodded to Charles Ordway and went out of the door.
There was a stir and snicker of applauding laughter, Through this relieved sound, a voice, harsh in an old bitterness re-aroused, came clear, heard by everyone: "What you expect when you got a horse doctor treating her? Just give him time, I say, and old Doc Bull can kill us all."
"That's all right, Virginia," Larry Ward said. "It's only about six or a little after. I told Mrs. Banning not to hurry you; you'd be along soon enough."
In the light-flooded garage, Larry's face had a beautiful warm bronze colour. The carefully shaved skin was firm and very finely textured. What should have been handsomeness was subtly spoiled by a too great regularity of feature. It gave him the blank, Insensitive look of a wax model. Like a model, too, his eyes were astonishingly bright, China blue, shaded in his bronzed face by an expression of perpetual mild perplexity. Virginia Banning got out of the Ford. "You'd better not keep Charlotte waiting," she said sharply.
"We're going to the dance at the Odd Fellows Hall in Sansbury," Larry said. "I guess she'll wait, all right." Showing at once his idea of the splendour of the proposed entertainment, and his pleasure in Charlotte Slade's probable docility, he came innocently close to smirking.
"Well, you needn't be so damned conceited," Virginia told him. "If I were Charlotte, I'd drop you cold!"
Larry looked at her, stunned to the customary confusion which afflicted him in matters not connected with farm animals or gasolene motors. He laughed a little uncertainly, straightened the bright orange necktie which he had knotted into a starched linen collar, and got into the Ford. The engine was still running, so he backed out promptly, halted. "Go on," Virginia said. "I'll shut the doors."
"Thanks!" he shouted, waving his hand, backed about and started down the drive.
Virginia made a slight, contemptuous sound between her teeth. She pushed her gloved hands into the pockets of her leather jacket, moving speculatively to look at Guy's car.
Standing on the clean cement of the garage floor next to her father's dark, sedately shaped, carefully kept sedan, this car of Guy's had a wonderfully violent air. Guy got something when he got that. She hoped, each time she saw it, that it would please her less, look more ordinary and less desirable; but it didn't. Its great power and tremendous potential speed could not have been more quietly, entrancingly evident. It had none of the shiny ostentation of lesser cars, turned out thousand after cheap thousand. Slate grey, its not too new enamel was flat and dull under a hardened film of dust and oil; its metal, of a luxurious tough thickness, showed the same lustreless practicality. A lean, three-pointed star was hung in a metal ring poised on the radiator cap; simple and severe badge of makers who didn't make cars for everybody, not a tricky little statue or ornament.
Virginia's gloved hand caressed one of the great headlights crouched inside the long strong swoop of mudguards slightly dented here and there on the edges. Out of the sides of the formidable hood came fat tubes, like ribbed worms of soiled metal. They passed diagonally astern, ducked out of sight again. Virginia was not sure what they did, but they seemed to imply a power too titanic for any ordinary hood to cover and hold. She moved along the side, glanced into the open driving compartment. The keys were there.
Carefully, unhurried and absorbed still, she passed on, examined the tyres, glanced at the dial on the underslung gas tank behind.
Matthew Herring removed the mail from his lock box, snapped it shut, and turned about; his high, thin shoulders stooped a little; his long, reserved face expressionless. "You oughtn't to say things like that, Henry," he observed. "We know what you say never means anything; but strangers might take you seriously." He nodded to Charles Ordway and went out of the door.
There was a stir and snicker of applauding laughter, Through this relieved sound, a voice, harsh in an old bitterness re-aroused, came clear, heard by everyone: "What you expect when you got a horse doctor treating her? Just give him time, I say, and old Doc Bull can kill us all."
"That's all right, Virginia," Larry Ward said. "It's only about six or a little after. I told Mrs. Banning not to hurry you; you'd be along soon enough."
In the light-flooded garage, Larry's face had a beautiful warm bronze colour. The carefully shaved skin was firm and very finely textured. What should have been handsomeness was subtly spoiled by a too great regularity of feature. It gave him the blank, Insensitive look of a wax model. Like a model, too, his eyes were astonishingly bright, China blue, shaded in his bronzed face by an expression of perpetual mild perplexity. Virginia Banning got out of the Ford. "You'd better not keep Charlotte waiting," she said sharply.
"We're going to the dance at the Odd Fellows Hall in Sansbury," Larry said. "I guess she'll wait, all right." Showing at once his idea of the splendour of the proposed entertainment, and his pleasure in Charlotte Slade's probable docility, he came innocently close to smirking.
"Well, you needn't be so damned conceited," Virginia told him. "If I were Charlotte, I'd drop you cold!"
Larry looked at her, stunned to the customary confusion which afflicted him in matters not connected with farm animals or gasolene motors. He laughed a little uncertainly, straightened the bright orange necktie which he had knotted into a starched linen collar, and got into the Ford. The engine was still running, so he backed out promptly, halted. "Go on," Virginia said. "I'll shut the doors."
"Thanks!" he shouted, waving his hand, backed about and started down the drive.
Virginia made a slight, contemptuous sound between her teeth. She pushed her gloved hands into the pockets of her leather jacket, moving speculatively to look at Guy's car.
Standing on the clean cement of the garage floor next to her father's dark, sedately shaped, carefully kept sedan, this car of Guy's had a wonderfully violent air. Guy got something when he got that. She hoped, each time she saw it, that it would please her less, look more ordinary and less desirable; but it didn't. Its great power and tremendous potential speed could not have been more quietly, entrancingly evident. It had none of the shiny ostentation of lesser cars, turned out thousand after cheap thousand. Slate grey, its not too new enamel was flat and dull under a hardened film of dust and oil; its metal, of a luxurious tough thickness, showed the same lustreless practicality. A lean, three-pointed star was hung in a metal ring poised on the radiator cap; simple and severe badge of makers who didn't make cars for everybody, not a tricky little statue or ornament.
Virginia's gloved hand caressed one of the great headlights crouched inside the long strong swoop of mudguards slightly dented here and there on the edges. Out of the sides of the formidable hood came fat tubes, like ribbed worms of soiled metal. They passed diagonally astern, ducked out of sight again. Virginia was not sure what they did, but they seemed to imply a power too titanic for any ordinary hood to cover and hold. She moved along the side, glanced into the open driving compartment. The keys were there.
Carefully, unhurried and absorbed still, she passed on, examined the tyres, glanced at the dial on the underslung gas tank behind.
Similar Books
