uld surreptitiously bid for the
soda-jerker's attention. They had finely plucked eyebrows and were
much powdered about the nose. One of them sat with her back partly
turned to Mary Louise, who could catch the occasional lift of an
alluring eyelash from the glass's brim in the direction of the clerk.
She had her legs crossed, and once when she shifted her position Mary
Louise could see the gleam of a bare knee. It made her feel a bit
older somehow, but likewise complacent.

She finished her drink and arose to go. Just then the big, raw-boned
clerk, the one who looked a bit like Joe, dropped a glass on the
counter and immediately there was a widening stain of red and a piece
of glass rolled over the edge and fell to the floor. A woman sprang
up and back from the counter in irritation. And a dull red flush crept
into the boy's face as he quickly produced a rag and began to mop up
the debris. As she walked to the door, the other clerk, the one with
the close-set eyes, was saying something to him in a sharp tone.

She paused a moment. Past her on the sidewalk pressed a steady stream
in each direction. Hot, perspiring faces, flushed and lined with
concentration, worry, or fatigue--all hurrying. She felt curiously
complacent and aloof. Perhaps it was the momentary rest and cooling.
Her thought returned again to Joe, being reminded perhaps by the
little incident at the counter. She recalled Claybrook. She remembered
Claybrook's words that afternoon--that afternoon she had gone to
Bloomfield. It was just a few minutes after they had left Joe Hooper
on the road; they were passing the old Mosby place. She had noticed
the interest with which Claybrook had inspected the place as they
rolled by. He had asked the name of the owner.

"Fine old trees," he had said. And later, "Walnuts," in answer to her
question as to which ones he had meant.

Yes, they had been fine old trees. Something enduring about them. They
added to a place--trees. There was nothing artificial or upstart about
their beauty, but the venerableness of dignity. The Mosby place had
been noted for its walnuts.

"Tell 'em," Claybrook had said, "I'll give 'em a nickle a foot for
those trees right there on the ground. That is, if they are hard up,"
he had added as if seeking to justify himself. She remembered the
incident now with regret, a sort of complacent regret. Claybrook was a
bit crude at times, or at least he was not quite awake to some of the
finer sensibili