Burned Bridges, Bertrand W. Sinclair [ready to read books .txt] 📗

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 95

Thompson 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 97

Had 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 98

Thompson 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