Edith looked at her companion’s huge frame and
forgot his homeliness. Into her mind came a picture
of the fat boy, grown into a man, driving down the
road in the wagon and leeringly asking her to ride
with him. A flood of anger at the memory of the
look of greedy assurance in his eyes came over her.
“This one could knock him over a six-rail fence,”
she thought.
“Where are we going now?” she asked.
McGregor looked down at her. “To some place
where we can talk,” he said. “I was
sick of this place. You ought to know where we’re
going. I’m going with you. You aren’t
going with me.”
McGregor wished he were in Coal Creek. He felt
he would like to take this woman over the hill and
sit on the log to talk of his father.
As they walked along Monroe Street Edith thought of
the resolution she had made as she stood before the
mirror in her room at the back of the shop on the
evening when she had decided to come to the dance.
She wondered if the great adventure was about to come
to her and her hand trembled on McGregor’s arm.
A hot wave of hope and fear shot through her.
At the door of the millinery shop she fumbled with
uncertain hands as she unlocked the door. A delicious
feeling shook her. She felt like a bride, glad
and yet ashamed and afraid.
In the room at the back of the shop McGregor lighted
the gas and pulling off his overcoat threw it on the
couch at the side of the room. He was not in
the least excited and with a steady hand lighted the
fire in the little stove and then looking up he asked
Edith if he might smoke. He had the air of a
man come home to his own house and the woman sat on
the edge of her chair to unpin her hat and waited
hopefully to see what course the night’s adventure
would take.
For two hours McGregor sat in the rocking chair in
Edith Carson’s room and talked of Coal Creek
and of his life in Chicago. He talked freely,
letting himself go as a man might in talking to one
of his own people after a long absence. His attitude
and the quiet ring in his voice confused and puzzled
Edith. She had expected something quite different.
Going to the little room at the side she brought forth
a teakettle and prepared to make tea. The big
man still sat in her chair smoking and talking.
A delightful feeling of safety and coziness crept over
her. She thought her room beautiful but mingled
with her satisfaction was a faint grey streak of fear.
“Of course he won’t come back again,”
she thought.
In the year following the beginning of his acquaintanceship
with Edith Carson McGregor continued to work hard
and steadily in the warehouse and with his books at
night. He was promoted to be foreman, replacing
the German, and he thought he had made progress with
his studies. When he did not go to the night
school he went to Edith Carson’s place and sat
reading a book and smoking his pipe by a little table
in the back room.
