“You going away in that—that bus, Mis’ McGill?” she asked.
“Yes, Mrs. McNally,” I said cheerfully. Her use of the word gave me an inspiration. “That’s one of the new jitney buses we hear about. He’s going to take me to the station. Don’t you worry about me. I’m going for a holiday. You get Mr. McGill’s dinner ready for him. After dinner tell him there’s a note for him in the living-room.”
“I tank that bane a queer bus,” said Mrs. McNally, puzzled. I think the excellent woman suspected an elopement.
I carried my suitcase out to the Parnassus. Pegasus stood placidly between the shafts. From within came sounds of vigorous movement. In a moment the little man burst out with a bulging portmanteau in his hand. He had a tweed cap slanted on the back of his head.
“There!” he cried triumphantly. “I’ve packed all my personal effects—clothes and so on—and everything else goes with the transaction. When I get on the train with this bag I’m a free man, and hurrah for Brooklyn! Lord, won’t I be glad to get back to the city! I lived in Brooklyn once, and I haven’t been back there for ten years,” he added plaintively.
“Here’s the check,” I said, handing it to him. He flushed a little, and looked at me rather shamefacedly. “See here,” he said, “I hope you’re not making a bad bargain? I don’t want to take advantage of a lady. If you think your brother …”
“I was going to buy a Ford, anyway,” I said, “and it looks to me as though this parcheesi of yours would be cheaper to run than any flivver that ever came out of Detroit. I want to keep it away from Andrew and that’s the main thing. You give me a receipt and we’ll get away from here before he comes back.”
He took the check without a word, hoisted his fat portmanteau on the driver’s seat, and then disappeared in the van. In a minute he reappeared. On the back of one of his poetical cards he had written:
Received from Miss McGill the sum of four hundred dollars in exchange for one Travelling Parnassus in first class condition, delivered to her this day, October 3rd, 19—.
“Tell me,” I said, “does your Parnassus—my Parnassus, rather—contain everything I’m likely to need? Is it stocked up with food and so on?”
“I was coming to that,” he said. “You’ll find a fair supply of stuff in the cupboard over the stove, though I used to get most of my meals at farmhouses along the road. I generally read aloud to people as I go along, and they’re often good for a free meal. It’s amazing how little most of the country folk know about books, and how pleased they are to hear good stuff. Down in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania …”
“Well, how about the horse?” I said hastily, seeing him about to embark on an anecdote. It wasn’t far short of eleven o’clock, and I was anxious to get started.
“It might be well to take along some oats. My supply’s about exhausted.”
I filled a sack with oats in the stable and Mr. Mifflin showed me where to hang it under the van. Then in the kitchen I loaded a big basket with provisions for an emergency: a dozen eggs, a jar of sliced bacon, butter, cheese, condensed milk, tea, biscuits, jam, and two loaves of bread. These Mr. Mifflin stowed inside the van, Mrs. McNally watching in amazement.
“I tank this bane a queer picnic!” she said. “Which way are you going? Mr. McGill, is he coming after you?”
“No,” I insisted, “he’s not coming. I’m going off on a holiday. You get dinner for him and he won’t worry about anything until after that. Tell him I’ve gone over to see Mrs. Collins.”
I climbed the little steps and entered my Parnassus with a pleasant thrill of ownership. The terrier on the bunk jumped to the floor with a friendly wag of the tail. I piled the bunk with bedding and blankets of my own, shook out the drawers which fitted above the bunk, and put into them what few belongings I was taking with me. And we were ready to start.
Redbeard was already sitting in front with the reins in hand. I climbed up beside him. The front seat was broad but uncushioned, well-sheltered by the peak of the van. I gave a quick glance around at the comfortable house under its elms and maples—saw the big, red barn shining in the sun and the pump under the grape arbour. I waved goodbye to Mrs. McNally who was watching us in silent amazement. Pegasus threw her solid weight against the traces and Parnassus swung round and rolled past the gate. We turned into the Redfield road.
“Here,” said Mifflin, handing me the reins, “you’re skipper, you’d better drive. Which way do you want to go?”
My breath came a little fast when I realized that my adventure had begun!
IV
Just out of sight of the farm the road forks, one way running on to Walton where you cross the river by a covered bridge, the other swinging down toward Greenbriar and Port Vigor. Mrs. Collins lives a mile or so up the Walton road, and as I very often run over to see her I thought Andrew would be most likely to look for me there. So, after we had passed through the grove, I took the right-hand turn to Greenbriar. We began the long ascent over Huckleberry Hill and as I smelt the fresh autumn odour of the leaves I chuckled a little.
Mr. Mifflin seemed in a perfect ecstasy of high spirits. “This is certainly grand,” he said. “Lord, I applaud your spunk. Do you think Mr. McGill will give chase?”
“I haven’t
