I was a trifle
groggy myself. In the end he was quite docile. He climbed
into the van, took off his boots, and lay down under a
blanket. Bock followed him, and I think they both fell asleep
on the instant. I got on the front seat and took the reins.
I didn't let Peg go more quickly than a walk as I wanted to
spare her sore foot.
My, what a morning that was after the rain! The road ran
pretty close to the shore, and every now and then I could
catch a glimpse of the water. The air was keen--not just the
ordinary, unnoticed air that we breathe in and out and don't
think about, but a sharp and tingling essence, as strong in
the nostrils as camphor or ammonia. The sun seemed focussed
upon Parnassus, and we moved along the white road in a flush
of golden light. The flat fronds of the cedars swayed gently
in the salty air, and for the first time in ten years, I
should think, I began amusing myself by selecting words to
describe the goodness of the morning. I even imagined myself
writing a description of it, as if I were Andrew or Thoreau.
The crazy little Professor had inoculated me with his literary
bug, I guess.
And then I did a dishonourable thing. Just by chance I put my
hand into the little pocket beside the seat where Mifflin kept
a few odds and ends.
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