Westward hoboes : $b ups and downs of frontier motoringDixon, Winifred Hawkridge
General
Westward hoboes : $b ups and downs of frontier motoring
Dixon, Winifred Hawkridge
Automobile travel; West (U.S.) -- Description and travel
A half mile further, within a pretty white cottage set shyly from the
road, we saw a light burning. This was so unusual for Orland that we
invaded the premises with new hope. Toby being again comatose, I waded
wearily to the door and knocked. A frightened girl’s voice answered,
and its owner appeared at the door. I shall always think of Indiana
and Michigan as a succession of old and young standing on doorsteps in
their nightgowns.
“Who is it?” called a voice from an inner room.
“Two women want a place to spend the night, gran’maw,” answered the
girl.
“Well, don’t you let ’em in here,” answered gran’maw.
“No, I don’t know of any place,” the girl translated gran’maw to us,
shutting the door.
“Of all churlish towns!” we said, left on the doorstep. But it was
not a just criticism. We had simply crossed the line where west is
east, where a stranger is perforce a suspicious character. Back in New
England would _we_ have let in two strange women after midnight? Their
asking to come in would have been proof presumptive they were either
criminal or crazy.
Our duel lost we drew up the old lady in a gutter under some dripping
elms, and lay down to a belated sleep among the baggage,--Toby in one
seat, I in another. In a twinkling we sat up, refreshed, to broad
daylight and a shining morning sky. Our first thought was to search
for the car’s internal injuries, fearing greatly they might prevent us
going further. There were none. Two tumors the size of a large potato
on our front tire revealed the cause of the noise. The marvel was that
the tire had not collapsed as a finishing touch to last night’s dismal
story. Luck, in its peculiar way, was again with us.
While we changed to our last spare tire, Toby straightened up for a
moment, and suddenly broke into a bitter, sardonic laugh. “Will you
look at that!” she said, pointing overhead.
Directly above our patient car a large, brightly painted sign flapped
energetically in the clearing breeze. It read, in letters a yard high,
“Welcome to Orland!”
Transcriber's Notes:
Italics are shown thus: _sloping_.
Variations in spelling and hyphenation are retained.
Perceived typographical errors have been changed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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