ke Washington, and just across it was the city of his
long dreams, the city of the Pacific--and of Claire. There was no ferry
in sight, and he rounded the lake, struck a brick pavement, rolled
through rough woods, suburban villas, and petty business streets, to a
region of factories and mills, with the funnels of ships beyond.

And every minute he drove more slowly and became more uneasy.

The pavement--the miles of it; the ruthless lumbermills, with their
thousands of workmen quite like himself; the agitation of realizing
that every three minutes he was passing a settlement larger than
Schoenstrom; the strangeness of ships and all the cynical ways of the
sea--the whole scene depressed him as he perceived how little of the
world he knew, and how big and contemptuous of Milt Daggetts that world
must be.

"Huh!" he growled. "Quite some folks living here. Don't suppose they
spend such a whale of a lot of time thinking about Milt Daggett and Bill
McGolwey and Prof Jones. I guess most of these people wouldn't think
Heinie Rauskukle's store was so gosh-awful big. I wasn't scared of
Minneapolis--much--but there they didn't ring in mountains and an ocean
on you. And I didn't have to go up on the hill and meet folks like
Claire's relations, and figure out whether you shake hands
catch-as-catch-can or Corinthian. Look at that sawmill chimney--isn't it
nice of 'em to put the fly-screen over it so the flies won't get down
into the flames. No, they haven't got much more than a million feet of
lumber in that one pile. And here's a bum little furniture store--it
wouldn't cost more 'n about ten times all I've got to buy one of those
Morris chairs. Oh Gooooooosh, won't these houses ever stop? Say, that
must be a jitney. The driver snickered at me. Will the whole town be
onto me? Milt, you're a kind young fellow, and you know what's the
matter with Heinie's differential, but they don't need you here. Quite
a few folks to carry on the business. Gosh, look at that building
ahead--nine stories!"

He had planned to stop at a hotel, to wash up, and to gallop to Claire.
But--well--wouldn't it maybe be better to leave the car at a public
garage, so the Boltwoods could get it when they wanted to? He'd better
"just kind of look around before he tackled the watch-dog."

It was the public garage which finally crushed him. It was a garage of
enameled brick and colored tiles, with a plate-glass-enclosed office in
which worked young men clad as t