And as they drew near the glow of the town, other streets and boulevards
poured more motors into the line, until at last they were rushing along
amid a perfect bedlam made up of honks and shrieks of horns. The air grew
hot and acrid, and looking back through the bluish haze of smoke and dust
behind him Roger could see hundreds of huge angry motor eyes. Crowding and
jamming closer, pell mell, at a pace which barely slackened, they sped on,
a wild uproarious crew, and swept into the city.
Roger barely slept that night. He felt the city clamoring down into his
very soul. "Speed!" he muttered viciously. "Speed--speed! We need more
speed!" The words beat in like a savage refrain. At last with a sigh of
impatience he got up in his nightshirt and walked about. It was good to
feel his way in the dark in this cool silent house which he knew so well.
Soon his nerves felt quieter. He went back to his bed and lay there inert.
How good it would be to get up to the farm.
* * * * *
The next Saturday evening, with Deborah, he started for the mountains. And
Bruce came down to see them off.
"Remember, son," said Roger, as the two walked on the platform. "Come up
this year for a month, my boy. You need it." The train was about to start.
"Oh, I'll be all right," was the answer. "My friend the Judge, who has hay
fever, tells me he has found a cure."
"Damn his cure! You come to us!"
"Hold on a minute, live and learn.
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