Perhaps that
wouldn't be so long after all: but I did not feel like going
back now, when Andrew had been so horrid.
I drove Parnassus on the ferry, and we crossed the river. I
felt lost and disagreeable. Even the fresh movement through the
air gave me no pleasure. Bock whined dismally inside the van.
It didn't take me long to discover that Parnassing all alone
had lost some of its charms. I missed the Professor: missed
his abrupt, direct way of saying things, and his whimsical
wit. And I was annoyed by his skipping off without a word of
good-bye. It didn't seem natural. I partially appeased my
irritation by stopping at a farmhouse on the other side of the
river and selling a cook book. Then I started along the road
for Bath--about five miles farther on. Peg's foot didn't seem
to bother her so I thought it would be safe to travel that far
before stopping for the night. Counting up the days (with
some difficulty: it seemed as though I had been away from
home a month), I remembered that this was Saturday night. I
thought I would stay in Bath over Sunday and get a good rest.
We jogged sedately along the road, and I got out a copy of
"_Vanity Fair_." I was so absorbed in Becky Sharp that I
wouldn't even interrupt myself to sell books at the houses we
passed.
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