Cabin Fever Read online

  CHAPTER THREE. TEN DOLLARS AND A JOB FOR BUD

  To withhold for his own start in life only one ten-dollar bill fromfifteen hundred dollars was spectacular enough to soothe even so bruisedan ego as Bud Moore carried into the judge's office. There is ananger which carries a person to the extreme of self-sacrifice, in thesubconscious hope of exciting pity for one so hardly used. Bud wasboiling with such an anger, and it demanded that he should all but giveMarie the shirt off his back, since she had demanded so much--and for soslight a cause.

  Bud could not see for the life of him why Marie should have quit forthat little ruction. It was not their first quarrel, nor their worst;certainly he had not expected it to be their last. Why, he asked thehigh heavens, had she told him to bring home a roll of cotton, if shewas going to leave him? Why had she turned her back on that little home,that had seemed to mean as much to her as it had to him?

  Being kin to primitive man, Bud could only bellow rage when he shouldhave analyzed calmly the situation. He should have seen that Marie toohad cabin fever, induced by changing too suddenly from carefree girlhoodto the ills and irks of wifehood and motherhood. He should have knownthat she had been for two months wholly dedicated to the small physicalwants of their baby, and that if his nerves were fraying with watchingthat incessant servitude, her own must be close to the snapping point;had snapped, when dusk did not bring him home repentant.

  But he did not know, and so he blamed Marie bitterly for the wreck oftheir home, and he flung down all his worldly goods before her, andmarched off feeling self-consciously proud of his martyrdom. It soothedhim paradoxically to tell himself that he was "cleaned"; that Marie hadruined him absolutely, and that he was just ten dollars and a decentsuit or two of clothes better off than a tramp. He was tempted to goback and send the ten dollars after the rest of the fifteen hundred, butgood sense prevailed. He would have to borrow money for his next meal,if he did that, and Bud was touchy about such things.

  He kept the ten dollars therefore, and went down to the garage where hefelt most at home, and stood there with his hands in his pockets and thecorners of his mouth tipped downward--normally they had a way of tippingupward, as though he was secretly amused at something--and his eyessullen, though they carried tiny lines at the corners to show how theyused to twinkle. He took the ten-dollar bank note from his pocket,straightened out the wrinkles and looked at it disdainfully. As plainlyas though he spoke, his face told what he was thinking about it: thatthis was what a woman had brought him to! He crumpled it up and made agesture as though he would throw it into the street, and a man behindhim laughed abruptly. Bud scowled and turned toward him a belligerentglance, and the man stopped laughing as suddenly as he had begun.

  "If you've got money to throw to the birds, brother, I guess I won'tmake the proposition I was going to make. Thought I could talk businessto you, maybe--but I guess I better tie a can to that idea."

  Bud grunted and put the ten dollars in his pocket.

  "What idea's that?"

  "Oh, driving a car I'm taking south. Sprained my shoulder, and don'tfeel like tackling it myself. They tell me in here that you aren't doinganything now--" He made the pause that asks for an answer.

  "They told you right. I've done it."

  The man's eyebrows lifted, but since Bud did not explain, he went onwith his own explanation.

  "You don't remember me, but I rode into Big Basin with you last summer.I know you can drive, and it doesn't matter a lot whether it's asphaltor cow trail you drive over."

  Bud was in too sour a mood to respond to the flattery. He did not evengrunt.

  "Could you take a car south for me? There'll be night driving, and badroads, maybe--"

  "If you know what you say you know about my driving, what's theidea--asking me if I can?"

  "Well, put it another way. Will you?"

  "You're on. Where's the car? Here?" Bud sent a seeking look into thedepths of the garage. He knew every car in there. "What is there in itfor me?" he added perfunctorily, because he would have gone just forsake of getting a free ride rather than stay in San Jose over night.

  "There's good money in it, if you can drive with your mouth shut. Thisisn't any booster parade. Fact is--let's walk to the depot, while Itell you." He stepped out of the doorway, and Bud gloomily followed him."Little trouble with my wife," the man explained apologetically. "Havingme shadowed, and all that sort of thing. And I've got business south andwant to be left alone to do it. Darn these women!" he exploded suddenly.

  Bud mentally said amen, but kept his mouth shut upon his sympathy withthe sentiment.

  "Foster's my name. Now here's a key to the garage at this address." Hehanded Bud a padlock key and an address scribbled on a card. "That's myplace in Oakland, out by Lake Merritt. You go there to-night, get thecar, and have it down at the Broadway Wharf to meet the 11:30 boat--theone the theater crowd uses. Have plenty of gas and oil; there won't beany stops after we start. Park out pretty well near the shore end asclose as you can get to that ten-foot gum sign, and be ready to go whenI climb in. I may have a friend with me. You know Oakland?"

  "Fair to middling. I can get around by myself."

  "Well, that's all right. I've got to go back to the city--catching thenext train. You better take the two-fifty to Oakland. Here's money forwhatever expense there is. And say! put these number plates in yourpocket, and take off the ones on the car. I bought these of a fellowthat had a smash--they'll do for the trip. Put them on, will you? She'swise to the car number, of course. Put the plates you take off underthe seat cushion; don't leave 'em. Be just as careful as if it was alife-and-death matter, will you? I've got a big deal on, down there, andI don't want her spilling the beans just to satisfy a grudge--which shewould do in a minute. So don't fail to be at the ferry, parked so youcan slide out easy. Get down there by that big gum sign. I'll find you,all right."

  "I'll be there." Bud thrust the key and another ten dollars into hispocket and turned away.

  "And don't say anything--"

  "Do I look like an open-faced guy?"

  The man laughed. "Not much, or I wouldn't have picked you for thetrip." He hurried down to the depot platform, for his train was alreadywhistling, farther down the yards.

  Bud looked after him, the corners of his mouth taking their normal,upward tilt. It began to look as though luck had not altogether desertedhim, in spite of the recent blow it had given. He slid the wrappednumber plates into the inside pocket of his overcoat, pushed his handsdeep into his pockets, and walked up to the cheap hotel which had beenhis bleak substitute for a home during his trouble. He packed everythinghe owned--a big suitcase held it all by squeezing--paid his bill at theoffice, accepted a poor cigar, and in return said, yes, he was going tostrike out and look for work; and took the train for Oakland.

  A street car landed him within two blocks of the address on the tag, andBud walked through thickening fog and dusk to the place. Foster had agood-looking house, he observed. Set back on the middle of two lots, itwas, with a cement drive sloping up from the street to the garage backedagainst the alley. Under cover of lighting a cigarette, he inspected theplace before he ventured farther. The blinds were drawn down--at leastupon the side next the drive. On the other he thought he caught a gleamof light at the rear; rather, the beam that came from a gleam of lightin Foster's dining room or kitchen shining on the next house. But he wasnot certain of it, and the absolute quiet reassured him so that he wentup the drive, keeping on the grass border until he reached the garage.This, he told himself, was just like a woman--raising the deuce aroundso that a man had to sneak into his own place to get his own car out ofhis own garage. If Foster was up against the kind of deal Bud had beenup against, he sure had Bud's sympathy, and he sure would get the besthelp Bud was capable of giving him.

  The key fitted the lock, and Bud went in, set down his suitcase, andclosed the door after him. It was dark as a pocket in there, save wherea square of grayness betrayed a window. Bud felt his way to the sideof the car, groped
to the robe rail, found a heavy, fringed robe, andcurtained the window until he could see no thread of light anywhere;after which he ventured to use his flashlight until he had found theswitch and turned on the light.

  There was a little side door at the back, and it was fastened on theinside with a stout hook. Bud thought for a minute, took a long chance,and let himself out into the yard, closing the door after him. He walkedaround the garage to the front and satisfied himself that the lightinside did not show. Then he went around the back of the house and foundthat he had not been mistaken about the light. The house was certainlyoccupied, and like the neighboring houses seemed concerned only with thedinner hour of the inmates. He went back, hooked the little door on theinside, and began a careful inspection of the car he was to drive.

  It was a big, late-modeled touring car, of the kind that sells fornearly five thousand dollars. Bud's eyes lightened with satisfactionwhen he looked at it. There would be pleasure as well as profit indriving this old girl to Los Angeles, he told himself. It fairly madehis mouth water to look at her standing there. He got in and slid behindthe wheel and fingered the gear lever, and tested the clutch and thefoot brake--not because he doubted them, but because he had a hankeringto feel their smoothness of operation. Bud loved a good car just as hehad loved a good horse in the years behind him. Just as he used to walkaround a good horse and pat its sleek shoulder and feel the hard musclesof its trim legs, so now he made love to this big car. Let that old henof Foster's crab the trip south? He should sa-a-ay not!

  There did not seem to be a thing that he could do to her, butnevertheless he got down and, gave all the grease cups a turn, removedthe number plates and put them under the rear seat cushion, inspectedthe gas tank and the oil gauge and the fanbelt and the radiator, turnedback the trip-mileage to zero--professional driving had made Bud carefulas a taxi driver about recording the mileage of a trip--looked at theclock set in the instrument board, and pondered.

  What if the old lady took a notion to drive somewhere? She would missthe car and raise a hullabaloo, and maybe crab the whole thing in thestart. In that case, Bud decided that the best way would be to let hergo. He could pile on to the empty trunk rack behind, and manage somehowto get off with the car when she stopped. Still, there was not muchchance of her going out in the fog--and now that he listened, he heardthe drip of rain. No, there was not much chance. Foster had not seemedto think there was any chance of the car being in use, and Foster oughtto know. He would wait until about ten-thirty, to play safe, and thengo.

  Rain spelled skid chains to Bud. He looked in the tool box, found a set,and put them on. Then, because he was not going to take any chances, heput another set, that he found hanging up, on the front wheels. Afterthat he turned out the light, took down the robe and wrapped himself init, and laid himself down on the rear seat to wait for ten-thirty.

  He dozed, and the next he knew there was a fumbling at the door infront, and the muttering of a voice. Bud slid noiselessly out of thecar and under it, head to the rear where he could crawl out quickly. Thevoice sounded like a man, and presently the door opened and Bud was sureof it. He caught a querulous sentence or two.

  "Door left unlocked--the ignorant hound--Good thing I don't trusthim too far--" Some one came fumbling in and switched on the light."Careless hound--told him to be careful--never even put the robe on therail where it belongs--and then they howl about the way they're treated!Want more wages--don't earn what they do get--"

  Bud, twisting his head, saw a pair of slippered feet beside the runningboard. The owner of the slippers was folding the robe and laying it overthe rail, and grumbling to himself all the while. "Have to come out inthe rain--daren't trust him an inch--just like him to go off and leavethe door unlocked--" With a last grunt or two the mumbling ceased. Thelight was switched off, and Bud heard the doors pulled shut, and therattle of the padlock and chain. He waited another minute and crawledout.

  "Might have told me there was a father-in-law in the outfit," hegrumbled to himself. "Big a butt-in as Marie's mother, at that. Huh.Never saw my suit case, never noticed the different numbers, never gotnext to the chains--huh! Regular old he-hen, and I sure don't blameFoster for wanting to tie a can to the bunch."

  Very cautiously he turned his flashlight on the face of the automobileclock. The hour hand stood a little past ten, and Bud decided he hadbetter go. He would have to fill the gas tank, and get more oil, and hewanted to test the air in his tires. No stops after they started, saidFoster; Bud had set his heart on showing Foster something in the way ofgetting a car over the road.

  Father-in-law would holler if he heard the car, but Bud did not intendthat father-in-law should hear it. He would much rather run the gauntletof that driveway then wait in the dark any longer. He rememberedthe slope down to the street, and grinned contentedly. He would givefather-in-law a chance to throw a fit, next morning.

  He set his suit case in the tonneau, went out of the little door, edgedaround to the front and very, very cautiously he unlocked the big doorsand set them open. He went in and felt the front wheels, judged thatthey were set straight, felt around the interior until his fingerstouched a block of wood and stepped off the approximate length of thecar in front of the garage, allowing for the swing of the doors, andplaced the block there. Then he went back, eased off the emergencybrake, grabbed a good handhold and strained forward.

  The chains hindered, but the floor sloped to the front a trifle, whichhelped. In a moment he had the satisfaction of feeling the big car give,then roll slowly ahead. The front wheels dipped down over the threshold,and Bud stepped upon the running board, took the wheel, and by instinctmore than by sight guided her through the doorway without a scratch.She rolled forward like a black shadow until a wheel jarred against theblock, whereupon he set the emergency brake and got off, breathing freeonce more. He picked up the block and carried it back, quietly closedthe big doors and locked them, taking time to do it silently. Then, ina glow of satisfaction with his work, he climbed slowly into the car,settled down luxuriously in the driver's seat, eased off the brake, andwith a little lurch of his body forward started the car rolling down thedriveway.

  There was a risk, of course, in coasting out on to the street withno lights, but he took it cheerfully, planning to dodge if he saw thelights of another car coming. It pleased him to remember that the streetinclined toward the bay. He rolled past the house without a betrayingsound, dipped over the curb to the asphalt, swung the car townward, andcoasted nearly half a block with the ignition switch on before he pushedup the throttle, let in his clutch, and got the answering chug-chug ofthe engine. With the lights on full he went purring down the street inthe misty fog, pleased with himself and his mission.