"_And_ Milwaukee," Doak added. "Do you only handle the earth runs?"
"Until next year," she said. "I'm new."
"I'm old," Doak said. "Is there anything to drink on board?"
"Water, Mr. Parker."
"I'm not _that_ old," he said.
She glanced at her watch. "We'll be in Milwaukee in six minutes. And
that's the beer town."
But he had no time for a glass of beer. The limousine took him to the
elevated station and the last car for Dubbinville was leaving in three
minutes.
It was a nine-minute trip. He'd picked up an hour, coming west, and
used but thirty-three minutes. It was still only seven o'clock when
the huge elevated car hissed to a stop in front of the Dubbinville
station.
There was a smell to the place, a smell of sun-warmed grass and fruit
blossoms, of lilacs and quiet rains. Doak stood on the platform,
surveying the winding main street leading up into the gentle hills.
People on porches and teenagers in front of the drugstore. A
reddish-brown setter padded past on some secret business of his own.
There was no whiz, no whir, no clank, no squeal, no grind. This was
Dubbinville, U.S.A.
The station agent was picking up a pair of film boxes, as Doak walked
over. He smiled at Doak. "Beautiful evening, isn't it?"
"It certainly is. Is there--a place to stay in town, a hotel?"
The station agent shook his head. "No hotel. But you could stay at
Mrs. Klein's. She takes in boarders." He pointed with a bony
forefinger. "That grey house with the blue shutters, right on the
curve there."
"Thank you," Doak said. "What's the population here?"
"Around eight hundred, last census, though we had a couple families
move in since then. Hasn't changed much the last hundred years."
"Retired farmers, mostly?" Doak asked.
"Mmmm, I guess. Just--people."
People.... Which meant nothing and everything. Doak had turned away
before he remembered. Then he turned back. "Oh, yes, and Senator
Arnold? Where does he live?"
"Big house, over the hill," the agent said. "Only big house around
here--you can't miss it. Got a high stone fence all around it and two
vicious dogs. God knows what he's scared of." This was a different man
from the one who had remarked on the beauty of the evening.
"Thanks," Doak said. "Thanks again."
Political resentment--or some local feud? Doak went along the platform
to the single step that led to the street.
There was a breeze from the east, cooling the warm air. He turned in
at the drug store and could scarcely believe his eyes.
Bent wire chairs and marble-topped tables with bent wire legs. No
toasters, video sets, geiger counters, ray guns or portable garbage
detergents.
But dim and cool and with a high marble fountain. "A lime-ade," Doak
said, "with a sprig of mint."
The man behind the fountain wore a blue jacket over his white shirt.
He had a thin face and a high-domed head and intelligent blue eyes.
Doak sat on one of the high wire stools and lighted a cigarette. "Hot
day, was it?"
"Hot enough. But we get the night breeze. Stranger in town?"
"From Milwaukee," Doak said. "Out to visit Senator Arnold."
"Oh." The man set the drink in front of Doak.
"Trying to talk him into leaving some money to the University," Doak
added. "Guess he's a pretty hard man to get money from."
"I hear he is. I wouldn't know about it. He--doesn't shop in town."
The drink was freshly flavorful, cool as springwater. Doak rubbed the
beaded moisture with a thumb. "Pretty town," he said. "Pretty country
around here."
"Peaceful," the man agreed. "I've never been anywhere else, so I
couldn't judge it right, I guess--but then I've never had the urge to
go anywhere else, so it must be all right."
"These days," Doak said, "a man doesn't need to go anywhere else. They
bring the world right to you."
"I guess. Hear they're having a hard time getting Venus populated. I
guess people aren't as rootless as the planners figured."
By "the planners" the man undoubtedly meant THAT WASHINGTON CROWD.
Doak finished his drink and went up the street to the grey house with
the blue shutters on the curve.
There was a woman sitting on the front porch, a short and heavy woman
with dark hair and brown eyes. She smiled at him and said, "Good
evening," without rising.
"Mrs. Klein?" Doak asked and she nodded. He said, "The station agent
told me you rented rooms and served meals. My name is Doak Parker."
"A pleasure, Mr. Parker. If you'll go through the living room and take
that door at the east end of it, you'll come to a hall. The room at
the back of the hall's the one, if you'd like to look at it." She
didn't move from her chair.
He went into the dim living room and through the door and down the
hall. A mahogany bed with a patchwork quilt for a spread, a mahogany
dresser and a huge wicker chair, upholstered in a bright chintz. It
was a chintzy house.
* * * * *
He looked out the back window and saw a neat lawn, bordered with
flowering shrubs. He put his grip on the floor and came back to the
living room.
There were windows along the front of this room and they were open. He
could see Mrs. Klein in her chair and a girl standing next to her.
There was no reason for him to pause but he did. He'd heard Mrs.
Klein say, "Another meeting tonight, Martha?"
"Yes." The girl's voice was defensive.
"Why--why, Martha? Don't you realize the danger of--oh, Martha!"
"Mother, please. There's no danger. We're careful."
Doak coughed and walked out again onto the porch. The girl standing
there was as dark as her mother but slim and long-legged and vividly
beautiful.