and dear friend of Ma’am’s—and just as Ma’am had always wished for a daughter, Mr. Hansen had always wished for a son. It was the one thing Will could say for himself, that of all the Edwards litter, Mr. Hansen probably would have picked him for his own.
“How you been keeping?”
“Fine, Mr. Hansen,” Will said.
“You seen my girl Jenny? She came out with me special. That girl has the biggest crush on you—”
“Dad!” Jenny screeched from across the room, having entered just in time to hear these intolerable words issue from her father’s lips. Her face was beet red. “I said had a crush. Had . When I was ten years old! For pity’s sake!”
Mr. Hansen stuck his tongue out at her, a bizarre expression for a titan of commerce. With a smile, he gestured for Will to follow him out to the verandah, where he could finish his cigar. The evening had cooled, and mellow golden light hung over the back garden, Ma’am’s pride. Late-season chrysanthemums nodded over the neat river-gravel pathways, their scent mingling with the smell of cigar smoke. Mr. Hansen breathed appreciatively. “Your mother,” he sighed.
Then, turning his attention back to Will: “So, congratulations are in order. I hear you graduated at the top of your class!”
Will shrugged indifferently. He’d graduated from the California Polytechnic High School in June, but his pride in the accomplishment had been overshadowed by the disappointment he’d suffered since. When he’d come home at the beginning of the summer, after three years living almost three hundred miles away from home in the school’s dormitory in San Luis Obispo, he’d felt like an independent man. Now he just felt like a bitter, thwarted boy.
“Still going on to study engineering?” Mr. Hansen rubbed a flake of tobacco from his lip then spat into a flowerbed. Even though he was now one of the richer men in San Francisco—a town that did not want for rich men—he still retained the manners of his early years in a rough-and-tumble logging camp in the Sierras. “Lots of opportunity in that line for a wide-awake young man.”
“I think there is,” Will said. He did not add the rest, even if some others around here don’t . His father might not think so, but Will was capable of tact when he chose to exercise it. Mr. Hansen was a good, honest man and Will wanted his respect. He wished he could talk to Mr. Hansen about the apprenticeship he’d been offered. If Mr. Hansen was his father, Will betted he’d let him go to Detroit.
“Yes, it is a fine little machine ... it will be just the thing for weekend outings when my duties allow me to return home from Washington.” Argus’ voice boomed from inside the house. “Of course, I wouldn’t dream of taking it out to Washington with me. Taft, you know, ordered a pair of last year’s models for state cars—official automobile of the White House—and it wouldn’t do for a freshman Congressman to show up the president.” A pause, during which Will imagined Argus taking a deep, ego-inflating breath. “It’s got a six stroke engine, so my mechanic tells me. He also told me something quite astonishing about its disbursement, but I can’t quite remember what it was he said. It’s quite low, or quite high, whatever it’s supposed to be.”
“Dual valve six, sixty-six horsepower, 714 cubic inches of displacement ,” Will muttered to himself. He did not mutter low enough for his words to escape Mr. Hansen’s notice; the man chuckled and ground the stub of his cigar under his heel. He bent his head toward Will’s and spoke in a conspiratorial tone:
“Just between you and me, he had to have that same mechanic start the car for him before we left San Francisco. I don’t know what he thinks we’ll do when it’s time to go back. Ask for your help, I reckon.”
Will didn’t smile. “Well, why shouldn’t he? I am the Edwards family mechanic, after all.”
Mr. Hansen clapped him on the shoulder
“How you been keeping?”
“Fine, Mr. Hansen,” Will said.
“You seen my girl Jenny? She came out with me special. That girl has the biggest crush on you—”
“Dad!” Jenny screeched from across the room, having entered just in time to hear these intolerable words issue from her father’s lips. Her face was beet red. “I said had a crush. Had . When I was ten years old! For pity’s sake!”
Mr. Hansen stuck his tongue out at her, a bizarre expression for a titan of commerce. With a smile, he gestured for Will to follow him out to the verandah, where he could finish his cigar. The evening had cooled, and mellow golden light hung over the back garden, Ma’am’s pride. Late-season chrysanthemums nodded over the neat river-gravel pathways, their scent mingling with the smell of cigar smoke. Mr. Hansen breathed appreciatively. “Your mother,” he sighed.
Then, turning his attention back to Will: “So, congratulations are in order. I hear you graduated at the top of your class!”
Will shrugged indifferently. He’d graduated from the California Polytechnic High School in June, but his pride in the accomplishment had been overshadowed by the disappointment he’d suffered since. When he’d come home at the beginning of the summer, after three years living almost three hundred miles away from home in the school’s dormitory in San Luis Obispo, he’d felt like an independent man. Now he just felt like a bitter, thwarted boy.
“Still going on to study engineering?” Mr. Hansen rubbed a flake of tobacco from his lip then spat into a flowerbed. Even though he was now one of the richer men in San Francisco—a town that did not want for rich men—he still retained the manners of his early years in a rough-and-tumble logging camp in the Sierras. “Lots of opportunity in that line for a wide-awake young man.”
“I think there is,” Will said. He did not add the rest, even if some others around here don’t . His father might not think so, but Will was capable of tact when he chose to exercise it. Mr. Hansen was a good, honest man and Will wanted his respect. He wished he could talk to Mr. Hansen about the apprenticeship he’d been offered. If Mr. Hansen was his father, Will betted he’d let him go to Detroit.
“Yes, it is a fine little machine ... it will be just the thing for weekend outings when my duties allow me to return home from Washington.” Argus’ voice boomed from inside the house. “Of course, I wouldn’t dream of taking it out to Washington with me. Taft, you know, ordered a pair of last year’s models for state cars—official automobile of the White House—and it wouldn’t do for a freshman Congressman to show up the president.” A pause, during which Will imagined Argus taking a deep, ego-inflating breath. “It’s got a six stroke engine, so my mechanic tells me. He also told me something quite astonishing about its disbursement, but I can’t quite remember what it was he said. It’s quite low, or quite high, whatever it’s supposed to be.”
“Dual valve six, sixty-six horsepower, 714 cubic inches of displacement ,” Will muttered to himself. He did not mutter low enough for his words to escape Mr. Hansen’s notice; the man chuckled and ground the stub of his cigar under his heel. He bent his head toward Will’s and spoke in a conspiratorial tone:
“Just between you and me, he had to have that same mechanic start the car for him before we left San Francisco. I don’t know what he thinks we’ll do when it’s time to go back. Ask for your help, I reckon.”
Will didn’t smile. “Well, why shouldn’t he? I am the Edwards family mechanic, after all.”
Mr. Hansen clapped him on the shoulder
Similar Books
