After a few more miles I ventured again. "You live--were living in Los
Angeles?"
She shook her head impatiently.
Well, I thought, really...! Then: poor thing, she's probably terribly
upset. Home and family lost perhaps. Money gone. Destitute. Going East,
swallowing pride, make a new start with the help of unsympathetic
relatives. She has only me to depend on--I must not fail her. Break the
ice, whatever attitude her natural pride dictates, offer your services.
"I'm on the _Daily Intelligencer_," I said. "I'm the man who first
walked on top of the grass."
Ten miles later I inquired, "Wouldnt you be more comfortable with that
heavy fur coat off? I can put it in the back with your luggage and it
won't be crushed."
She shook her head more impatiently.
Suddenly I remembered the car radio installed a few days before. A
little cheerful music calms the soul. I turned it on and got a band
playing a brandnew hit, "Green as Grass."
"Oh, no. No noise."
Of course. How thoughtless of me. The very word "grass" reminded her of
her tragic situation. I kicked myself for my tactlessness.
We skirted Riverside and joined the highway again at Beaumont where we
were unavoidably packed into the slowmoving mass. "I'm sorry," I
apologized, "but I can take a chance again at Banning and drive up into
the mountains to get away from this."
An hour later I suggested stopping for something to eat. She shook her
head. "But it's getting late," I said. "Pretty soon we shall have to
think about stopping for the night."