Burned Bridges - Bertrand W. Sinclair (best ereader for academics txt) 📗
- Author: Bertrand W. Sinclair
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Ten-Thousand-Dollar Salary Who Finds It A Living, No More."
"Poor Devil," He Drawled Sardonically. "When I Get Into The
Ten-Thousand-A-Year Class I Rather Think It Will Afford Me A Few Trifles
Beyond Bare Subsistence."
She Smiled.
"Have You Set That For A Mark To Shoot At?"
"I Haven't Set Any Limit," He Replied. "I Haven't Got My Sights Adjusted
Yet."
"I Can Scarcely Assure Myself That You Are Really You," She Said After A
Momentary Silence. "I Can't Seem To Disassociate You With Lone Moose And
A Blundering Optimism, A Mystical Faith That The Lord Would Make Things
Come Out Right If You Only Leaned On Him Hard Enough. Now Your Talk Is
Flavored With Both Egotism And The Bitterness Of The Cynic."
"How Should A Man Talk?" He Demanded. "Like A Worm If He Chance To Be
Trodden On A Few Times? Does A Man Necessarily Become Cynical When He
Realizes That Plugging From The Bottom Up Is No Child's Play? As For
Egotism--Heaven Knows You Knocked That Out Of Me Pretty Effectually When
You Left Lone Moose. You Made Me Feel Like A Whipped Puppy For Months. I
Chucked Myself Out Of The Church Because Of That--That Abased,
Disheartened Feeling. For A Year And A Half I've Been Learning And
Discovering That Life Isn't A Parlor Game. Do You Remember That Letter
You Left With Cloudy Moon For Me? I Need Only To Recall A Phrase Here
And There In That As A Cure For Incipient Egotism. What Do You Think I
Should Have Become?" He Flung At Her, Unconscious Of The Passion In His
Voice, "A Poor Thing Glad Of A Ride In Your Car? Or A Confirmed Optimist
In Overalls?"
Sophie Gave Him A Queer Sidelong Glance.
"Can't You Let The Dead Past Bury Its Dead?" She Asked Quietly.
Thompson Kept His Eyes On The Smooth, Green-Bordered Road For A Minute.
The Quick Wave Of Feeling Passed. He Stifled It--Indeed, Felt Ashamed
For Letting It Briefly Master Him.
"Of Course," He Answered At Last, And Turned To Her With A Friendly
Quirk Of His Lips. "It Is Buried Pretty Deep One Way And Another, Isn't
It? And It Would Hardly Be Decent To Exhume The Remains. Shall We Talk
About The Weather?"
"Don't Be Sarcastic," She Reproved Gently. "Save That To Cope With Dad.
He'll Relish It Coming From You."
"I Don't Know," Thompson Said Thoughtfully. "I Wouldn't Mind A Chat With
Your Father. We Wouldn't Agree On Many Things, By A Good Way, Although
I've Discovered That Some Of His Philosophy Is Sound Enough. But I've
Got To Make A Move, And I'm So Situated That I Must Make It Quickly Or
Not At All. I'm Going To Take The First North-Bound Steamer Out Of San
Francisco. So I Don't Imagine Mr. Carr Will Have A Chance At Me Soon."
"Oh, Yes, He Will," Sophie Asserted Confidently. "In About Twenty
Minutes."
Chapter 11 (A Meeting By The Way) Pg 95Thompson Looked At Her, Startled A Little By This Bland Assertion.
"We'll Be Home In About Twenty Minutes," She Explained.
"But I'm--Why Take The Trouble?" He Asked Bluntly. "I'm Out Of Your
Orbit Entirely. Or Do You Want To Exhibit Me As A Horrible Example?"
"You're Downright Rude," She Laughed. "Or You Would Be If You Were
Serious. Do You Mind Coming To See Dad? And I'd Like To Hear More About
Your Trip Across The Mountains With Tommy Ashe."
Thompson Pricked Up His Ears.
"Oh, You Know About That, Eh?" He Remarked. "How--"
"Not As Much As I'd Like To," She Interrupted. "Will You Come?"
"Yes," He Agreed. "But Give A Fellow A Chance. Don't Drag Me Into Your
Home Looking Like This. I'm Not Vain, But I'd Feel More Comfortable In
Clean Clothes. I Shipped All My Things Into Town. They Should Be In The
Express Office Now. I'll Come This Afternoon Or This Evening, Whichever
You Say. Drop Me Off At The First Carline."
"I'll Do Better Than That," She Declared. "I'll Drive You Downtown
Myself."
"But It Isn't Necessary," He Persisted. "I Don't Want To Take Up All
Your Time, And--"
"For The Rest Of This Day," Sophie Murmured, "I Have Absolutely Nothing
To Do But Kill Time. I Get Restless, And Being Out In The Car Cures That
Feeling. Do You Mind If I Chauff You A Few Miles More Or Less? Don't Be
Ungallant. I Love To Drive."
"Oh, Well."
Thompson Mentally Threw Up His Hands. In That Gracious Mood Sophie Was
Irresistible. He Sank Back In The Thick, Resilient Upholstery And
Resolved To Take What The Gods Provided--To Dance As It Were, And Reckon
With The Piper When He Presented His Bill.
Chapter 12 (The Reproof Courteous) Pg 96
For The Few Minutes It Took The Red Roadster To Slip Under The Green
Summits Of Twin Peaks And By A Maze Of Boulevards Debouch At Length Upon
Valencia And So Into The Busy Length Of Market Street Their Talk Ran To
Commonplaces. Thompson Placed Himself Unreservedly In Sophie's Hands. He
Chapter 12 (The Reproof Courteous) Pg 97Had To Reach An Express Office On Lower Market, Get His Things, And
Proceed Thence To The House Where He Had Roomed All Winter. Since It
Suited Miss Carr's Book To Convey Him To The First Point, He Accepted
The Gift Of Her Company Gladly. So In The Fullness Of Time They Came
Into The Downtown Press Of Traffic, Among Which, He Observed, Sophie
Steered Her Machine Like A Veteran.
At Third And Market The Traffic Whistle Blocked Them With The Front
Wheels Over The Safety Line That Guided The Flow Of Cross-Street
Pedestrians, And The Point Man, Crabbed Perhaps From A Long Trick Amidst
That Roaring Maze Of Vehicles, Motioned Autocratically For Her To Back
Up.
Sophie Muttered Impatiently Under Her Breath And Went Into Reverse.
Behind Her The Traffic Was Piling Up, Each Machine Stealing Every Inch
Of Vantage For The Go-Ahead Signal, Crowding Up Wheel To Wheel, The Nose
Of One Thrusting At The Rear Fender Of The Other. On One Side Of Sophie
Rose The Base Of A Safety Station For Street-Car Boarders. Between Her
Car And The Curb A Long-Snouted Gray Touring-Car Was Edging In. And As
She Backed Under The Imperative Command Of The Traffic Officer, One Rear
Hub Clinked Against The Hind Fender Of The Other, Jarring Both Cars A
Little, Dinting The Gray One's Fender, Marring The Glossy Finish.
A Chauffeur In A Peaked Cap Drove The Gray Machine. He Looked Across At
Sophie, Scowling. He Was Young And Red-Faced, A Pugnacious-Looking
Individual.
"Back To The Country, Jane, An' Practice On The Farm Wagon," He Snarled
Out Of One Corner Of His Mouth. "Yuh Drive Like A Hick, Yuh Do."
"Talk Civil To A Woman," Thompson Snapped Back At Him, "Or Keep Your
Mouth Shut."
The Chauffeur Bestowed Upon Him A Rancorous Glare. His Sharp, Ferret
Eyes Gleamed. Then He Deliberately Spat Upon The Impeccably Shining Red
Hood Of Sophie's Roadster.
A Scant Arm's Length Separated Him From Thompson. Thompson Bridged That
Gap With His Feet Still On The Running-Board Of The Roadster. He Moved
So Quickly That The Chauffeur Had No Chance. He Did Try To Slide Out
From Behind The Wheel And His Fist Doubled And Drew Back, But Thompson's
Work-Hardened Fingers Closed About His Neck, And The Powerful Arms Back
Of Those Clutching Hands Twisted The Man Out Of All Position To Strike
Any Sort Of Blow. He Yanked The Chauffeur's Head Out Over The Side Of
The Car, Struck Him One Open-Handed Slap That Was Like An Earnest Cluff
From A Sizable Bear, Lifted Again And Banged The Man's Face Down On The
Controls On His Wheels, Then Pushed Him Back Into His Seat, Limp And
Disheveled, All The Insolent Defiance Knocked Out Of Him.
Thompson Stood On The Running Board, Panting A Little, The Blaze Of A
Quick Anger Bright In His Blue Eyes, And He Became Aware Of Two Men In
The Rear Seat Of The Gray Car, Gazing At Him In Open-Mouthed
Astonishment. One Was Fat And Long Past Forty, Well Fed, Well Dressed, A
Prosperous Citizen. The Other Was A Slim Youngster In The Early
Twenties, Astonishingly Like His Older Companion As To Feature.
Chapter 12 (The Reproof Courteous) Pg 98Thompson Looked At Them, And Back At The Cowed Driver Who Was Feeling
His Neck And Face With Shaky Fingers. Just Then Three Things
Happened--Simultaneously. The Traffic Whistle Blew. The Younger Man
Opened His Mouth And Uttered, "I Say--" Sophie Plucked At Thompson's
Arm, Crying "Sit Down, Sit Down."
Thompson Was Still Fumbling The Catch On The Door When They Swept Over
The Cross Street And Raced Down The Next Block. He Looked Back. The Gray
Car Was Hidden Somewhere In A Rolling Phalanx Of Other Motors. The
Traffic Had Split And Flowed About And Past It, Stalled There Doubtless
While The Red-Faced Chauffeur Wiped The Blood Out Of His Eyes And
Wondered If A Street Car Had Struck Him.
"Do You Habitually Reprove Ill-Bred Persons In That Vigorous Manner?"
He Became Aware Of Sophie Speaking. He Looked At Her. So Far As He Could
Gather From Her Profile She Was Quite Unperturbed, Making Her Way Among
The Traffic That Is Always Like A Troubled Sea Between Third And The
Ferry Building.
"No," He Replied Diffidently. "I Daresay I'd Be In Jail Or The Hospital
Most Of The Time If I Did. Still, That Was Rather A Rank Case. I'm Not
Sorry I Bumped Him. He'll Be Civil To The Next Woman He Meets."
What He Did Not Attempt To Explain To Sophie, A Matter He Scarcely
Fathomed Himself, Was His Precipitancy, This Going Off "Half-Cocked", As
He Put It. He Wasn't Given To Quick
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