Grace Livingston Hill - Crimson Mountain (Musaicum Romance Classics)

"Oh," said Laurel. "Isn’t this wonderful! My car will be done in time for me to get home to-night!"

"Sure thing, lady. You hit the nail on the head," said the mechanic. "You take Pilgrim with you, and ya can leave his car here till we doctor it up a bit. I can see at least half a dozen things needs doing to it."

"Thanks, Mark, but the lady and I each have our own business. If you don’t mind, I’ll just take off my coat and get down and put on my own spare tire and trust to luck for the rest."

"Not on your tintype, old man, you won’t," said Mark. "I’ve owed you a thank-you for a long time for a lotta good deeds you done fer me, and now I wantta get it off my conscience. Besides, I’m too patriotic to let you get down on them there new soldier trousers knees with them fine creases in ’em. This one is on me, and I mean it, man!"

"Sorry, Mark, but I’ve simply got to get to the city. Excuse me a minute. I’ll have to telephone. And when I get back, I’ll wager I can get my car in shape as soon as you finish that one."

So Pilgrim went in to the telephone for a few minutes, and Laurel watched his face and gathered that he had finally reached his officer and that the answer was satisfactory. It was pleasant to watch the glow of light in his eyes and the pleased smile as he talked, as if he and his captain were on friendly terms. Then he came out.

"It’s okay," he said in a tone of satisfaction. "I’m off for two days longer to get this matter settled up. And now, how is your car? Why but—what has become of mine? Mark, you sinner! What have you done with it?"

Then, as he rounded the corner into the back of the garage, "What have you taken off those wheels for? I didn’t tell you to repair my car!"

"Those wheels were out of alignment. Hadn’t you noticed it, pal? Anyhow, I’m fixing it. The lady says she wants you to go in her car. She claims she’s afraid to ride to the city alone at night on that there lonely road." Mark winked affably at Laurel as he turned back to put a final twist to a nut he was tightening in her car before turning it over to her.

Laurel gave him an understanding grin and turned toward Pilgrim.

"I can’t credit that," said Pilgrim. "That girl’s not afraid of anything."

"Listen," said Laurel, stepping to Pilgrim’s side and speaking in a low tone, "this is probably my only chance to do a little repaying for the way you saved my life, and I want you please to be good and let me do it. Please! And besides, it is a very lonely ride some of the way to the city, and I really want your company."

Pilgrim looked into her wide blue eyes, and something flashed from them to his own and deep into his soul. His own glance softened.

"All right," he said, "if you really mean it. Only, remember I’m an utter stranger, you know."

"No," said Laurel, "you’re not a stranger. Not since you saved my life!" And the smile she gave him sent a warm glow around his heart. Then her eyes went down in sudden embarrassment. "You know, I’m really quite unnerved with what I’ve been through this afternoon!" she explained quickly, in what she tried to make a matter-of-fact tone. "I really would feel quite uneasy alone. And besides, we have things to talk over."

He looked at her in a kind of grave amusement. "Have we?" he asked. "What things?"

"Why, certainly," said Laurel crisply, avoiding his direct glance. "We—haven’t—made—any plans yet."

"Plans?" said Pilgrim with a lifting of his brows.

"Why, yes, plans for meeting again, and all that. You haven’t even given me your address."

"Address?" he said, almost stupidly. "Why would you want that?"

She gave him a quick, almost reproachful look, and the color stole softly into her lovely cheeks.

"You certainly were not planning that we should go back and be strangers again, were you?" she asked almost haughtily.

He caught his breath but held his lips steady. "Wasn’t that what you were expecting would happen?" he asked. "Isn’t that what you want? I certainly wouldn’t presume on some slight service I was able to render."

Laurel went suddenly white and drew a quick breath, her lips trembling a little, though she was doing her best to hold them still. "It certainly is not!" she flashed. "Why—why—I thought we were friends!" And now her little soft chin was trembling in spite of her best efforts.

Then the hard expression that had come into Pilgrim’s face while he was speaking suddenly softened again, and he looked deep into her eyes as if he were searching her very soul.

"Are you sure?" he asked, and his voice was tense.

"I certainly am sure," she said very definitely. "How could you think I was like that?"

One more instant his eyes raked her face, and then he suddenly put his hand over hers with quick meaningful pressure, and his face bloomed into a brilliant smile.

"All right! Come on, then," he said, and led the way to her car.

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