Property:Has text
From Off the Road Database
This is a property of type Text.
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<p>Whether it be contempt of court or no, I wish to state that subsequent inquiry among the hairdressers, hotel clerks, and garage men of Houston, revealed that a fine of such magnitude had never been imposed in the annals of the town. The usual sentence was a rebuke for first offenses, two dollars for the second and so on. The judge was right. I <i>was</i> a stranger——
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<p>On board, besides ourselves, were some very funny people, and some merely funny. A swarthy family of Spaniards next us passed through all the successive shades of yellow and green, but throughout they were gay, eating oranges and chanting pretty little Castilian folk-songs. At table sat a man wearing a black and white striped shirt, of the variety known as "boiled," a black and white striped collar of a different pattern, and a bright blue necktie thickly studded with daisies and asterisks. He looked, otherwise, like a burglar without his jimmy, especially when we saw him by moonlight glowering prognathously through a porthole. He turned out to be only a playwright and journalist, with a specialty for handing out misinformation on a different subject each meal.
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<p>With the air of saying something equally witty, I replied, "I surely am."
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<p>So I waited, filling in time by answering the guarded questions the watchman put to me. I was almost as fascinating an object of attention to him as his Bull Durham, though I must admit that when there was a conflict between us, I never won, except once, when he asked where the car and I came from.
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<p>"Texas is a hell of a state. Chock full of socialists, horse-thieves and Baptists."
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<p>"Never mind, lady," he said, soothingly and caressingly. "Yo' give me twenty dollars now, and tell the judge your story tomorrow, an' seein' as how you're a stranger and a lady, he'll give it all back to you."
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<p>"Yo' are charged with exceeding the speed limit at a rate of fo'ty-five miles an hour."
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<p>"Yes, sir," said I. Were there to be complications?
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<p>"The road's all right, ef yo' don't boag, otherwise you'll find it kinder rough."
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<p>And then he bit it off!
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<p>"I wish I were longer," I said.
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<p>After his diagnosis and my acceptance of it, further conversation became anticlimactic. The "hands" were still absent at lunch, so I followed their example, and returning at two, found them still at lunch. But at last the agent drifted in, and three or four interested and willing colored boys. Everybody was pleasant, nobody was hurried, we exchanged courtesies, and signed papers, and after we really got down to business, in a surprisingly few minutes the car was rolled across the street by five-man power, while I lolled behind the steering wheel like Cleopatra in her galley. At the doorway the agent halted me.
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<p>The Hudson showed signs of fight, and lured us through the traffic at a lively pace. My companion on the running board was dying of mortification. I knew how he itched to seize the wheel, and for his sake I redoubled my efforts. In a moment the impudent Hudson children ceased to leer from the back of their car, and were pretending to admire the scenery on the other side. Then suddenly the Hudson lost all interest in the race.
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<p>The sheriff took my name and address.
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<p>At three next afternoon, Toby and I sought the courthouse to get our twenty dollars back, as agreed. The ante-room was filled with smoke from a group of Houstonians whose lurking smiles seemed to promise indulgence. The judge was old and impassive, filmed with an absent-mindedness hard to penetrate. Yet he, too, had a lurking grin which he bit off when he spoke.
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<p>"What did you thank him for?" she asked.
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<p>Toby and I waited in suspense. We saw a faint spark light the cold, filmed blue eye, spread to the corner of his grim mouth, while a look of benevolent anticipation rippled over his set countenance. It was coming! I got ready to say with a spontaneous laugh "We surely <i>are</i>."
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<p>Again we faced the probability of progressing only a few miles further on Texas soil, but the town flocked to our aid, told us of two alternate roads, and promptly split into two factions, each claiming we should "boag" if we took the road advised by the other. A friendly soda clerk gained our confidence by asserting he never advised any road he had not traveled personally. He was such a unique change from the rest of Texas that we took his advice and the East Bernard road to Eagle Lake. It was only the fourth change from our original route planned when overlooking the asphalt of New York, and each detour decreased our chances of getting back to the highways. But there was no alternative. The soda clerk as he served us diluted ginger ale, reassured us. "It's a pretty good road, and ef yo' don't boag, I think yo'll git through."
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<p>A GUIDE, who at the age of twelve had in disgust left his native state, once epitomized it to me.
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<p>At last the car stirred a bit from her lethargy, the two boys put their country strength against her broad back and pushed; the engine roared like a man-eating tiger—and we got out.
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