"Don't want us to slide off one of these hills into the creek, do you?" And she felt there was nothing more she could say. They sat in awkward silence, listening to the downpour and the wind. The thunder crashed incessantly and the air was alive with the lightning playing about them in livid flares. They could feel one side of the car lift slightly as Joe adjusted the chain, and then the other side; could dimly hear him struggling with the wheel jack. It seemed criminal to be exposed to such a rain. A wave of cold resentment against Claybrook came over her and she sat staring straight in front of her, lips tightly compressed, waiting. It seemed an interminable time; in reality, in about ten minutes Joe's head appeared at the door of the car and he climbed stiffly in. Drenched he was from top to toe. The water streaked down his checks in little streams; his clothes flapped and clung to him as though he had been flung into the river; his cap was a sodden, pulpy mass. But he chuckled as he slid over in behind the wheel. "Guess I'll remember to bring my coat along next time." She wanted to put her hand on his shoulder but she sat in stony silence. And she noticed that he no longer drove with the same care as before. She saw that he was giving little involuntary shivers, watched the water drip with silent monotony from his cap on to the back of the seat, making a slick, shiny spot there. And then Claybrook broke the silence. "How will you split commission with me if I take one of these cars?" He spoke heartily, as though he wished to be friendly and cheerful. Joe made no reply for a moment and when he did, his voice trembled just a little. "We're not allowed to make that kind of a deal." "Oh, I know that, and all that sort of thing. But they all _do_, just the same." He reached over and gave Mary Louise a little shove on the elbow, from which she recoiled. Joe made no further reply; they waited for what he might say. And directly Claybrook tried again: "And how about my old car? Take that in, I suppose?" "We'll take it and do the best we can to sell it for you," said Joe, without looking back. The water still dripped from his cap on to the cushion. "Hum," muttered Claybrook, "Independent." And louder: "Two or three other concerns will allow me good money on my car." Joe made no reply. When they arrived at the garage again, the rain had about stopped and they drove in at the main entrance back into the general storage room. Joe stood holding the tonneau door open for them, a ludicrous object in his bedraggled clothes. He made no effort to assist Mary Louise but stood there holding the door with an abstracted look on his face. All the dash, all the sleekness was out of him. They both thanked him and then Claybrook led the way to his own car which someone had brought in out of the rain. He turned to Joe once more--"I'll see you later"--thanked him again, and started his motor.