Joe, in the cracked monotone of a man who cannot hear the cadences of his own voice, said, “Things been going all right while you’ve been gone. Kept all the dogs on training, putting them through the regular routine every day. Kept them fed up nice, and they’re all feeling pretty good. What kind of a trip did you have?”
He showed that he hardly expected an answer. Hearing was such an effort with him that he preferred to ramble on.
“How’s Europe anyway?”
Rob nodded and smiled, motioned towards the car and said, “I’ll get my baggage in.”
“How’s that?”
Joe cupped his hands back of his ears and Rob shouted, “I’ll get my baggage in.”
Joe hobbled out to give what help he could and the men carried Rob’s bags in. Rob stacked them in the corner of his bedroom, leaving them unopened, taking only pyjamas and toilet articles from his overnight bag.
Lobo walked stiff-legged around the room, his nose inspecting every nook and corner, then, finally deciding that the bed belonged to that of his new-found master, looked inquiringly.
Rob nodded and said, “All right, boy,” and Lobo jumped up on the bed with such light grace that his feet barely seemed to depress the covers.
“Got her all made up fresh for you,” Joe said. “How about something to eat? Want to have a little bite?”
Rob shook his head.
“Well, I reckon you’re tired. How about that car? I didn’t understand about that.”
“I’ll tell you in the morning.”
“How...”
“Later on,” Rob shouted.
“Okay,” Joe said, and went hobbling about the kitchen getting things ready for the night, asking a hundred questions without waiting for the answers.
“Get to Paris?... Did, eh?... How’s that Folies whatchamaycallit?... Good, eh?... Right up to specifications... heh-heh-heh... Bet you had a front seat. Liked that Switzerland scenery all right, eh? Thought you would... Lots of lakes and mountains, I s’pose...”
And so old Joe went on with a rambling interrogation, answering all the questions himself. So far as any contribution to the conversation was concerned, Rob might as well have remained in Europe. But his physical presence was all that was required to give Joe’s answers to his own questions sufficient authenticity to satisfy him. For years now he had been too deaf to bother with the long drawn-out process of listening to the other man, save in matters of great importance, so he contented himself with a series of one-sided conversations.
It seemed good to Rob Trenton to be once more splashing in his own shower, working up plenty of suds in the soft water, then drying off, getting into pyjamas and climbing into bed.
The huge windows were wide open, and through the heavy screen came the myriad night noises of the country and a benediction of fresh, pure air which gave the tired traveler’s lungs a feeling of drinking in pure, cool refreshment.
Rob settled under the covers. Lobo adjusted himself so that he was curled against the feet of his new master, and Trenton slept.
Some time towards morning Trenton was aroused by the dog. The animal was growling throatily.
“That’s all right, Lobo,” Trenton assured him drowsily. “Lie down, it’s just a new home.”
But the dog stood stiff and rigid, growling. Then with his paw he scratched at the covers over Rob’s legs. Annoyed, Trenton said, “Down, Lobo. Down, I say.”
The dog sank back down on the bed, but his muscles were taut as springs.
Trenton fought his way back from a deeper bliss of refreshing slumber to put out a hand in the general direction of the dog. He patted the animal once or twice reassuringly, said, “It’s all right, boy, keep quiet,” and promptly went back to sleep.
In the morning he awoke with sunshine streaming through the windows, the lace curtains fluttering with the morning breeze. He felt that his blood had been washed clean in an oxygen bath, that he had been aerated, renewed and filled with vitality.
Lobo, stretched out on the bed in complete oblivion, seemed to be enjoying the advantages of his first day off the ship.
“All right, Lobo,” Rob grinned. “It’s time to arise and greet the dawn.”
The dog opened his eyes, thumped his tail against the foot of the bed, then came crawling up for a morning greeting, putting his head on Rob’s chest, letting Rob’s fingers rough the hair of his forehead and around his ears.
“All right, boy, let’s go,” Rob said, and Lobo gained the floor with a quick leap.
Trenton stretched, yawned, kicked his feet into slippers, and went out into the kitchen where Joe, with a fire going in the wood stove, water boiling merrily in the kettle, was frying bacon.
Rob poured himself a cup of coffee from the big fire-blackened pot that was over in the back of the stove.
Joe grinned a greeting, and said, “Got you some orange juice in the ice-box.”
Rob motioned that that would come later. He’d take a shower, then have fruit juice and breakfast, but now he wanted coffee and a chance to relax.
He sipped the coffee, said to Joe, “I’m going to keep Lobo as a house dog, Joe. I’d like to make him a personal dog. I’ll train the others but Lobo will be a companion.”
Joe cupped his hands back of his ears, squinted his eyes with a concentration of effort at hearing, and Rob smiled, waved his hand and said, “Never mind, it’s nothing.”
He walked to the door and inhaled the freshness of the air, looked out over the rolling acres of the countryside, out to the kennels where the dogs were eagerly awaiting their morning schooling, dogs that had been trained to maintain silence unless they had been specifically ordered otherwise.
Rob opened the doors, strolled out into the back yard, inhaled deeply, then suddenly stiffened to attention as he looked at the circle and the driveway.
The little car was gone.
Rob rushed back into the kitchen, put his hand on Joe Colton’s shoulder, his mouth close to Joe’s ear. “Joe, what happened to the little car?”
“The one you came home with? It’s out there.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“What?”
“I say it isn’t out there.”
Joe started for the door, then after the manner of a good cook, turned, carefully drained the grease from the bacon and set the frying-pan over on the back of the stove. He grabbed his cane, hobbled to the door, and stood looking at the driveway. “Well, I’ll be doggoned,” he said.
The two men were silent for a moment.
“How about the keys?” Joe asked. “Didn’t you lock her up?”
“Sure I locked it up,” Rob Trenton said. He went swiftly to his bedroom, searched the pocket of his coat and came back with the keys to the car. “I locked the ignition,” he said.
“Well, she’s gone now,” Joe told him, and seeing there was nothing for the moment that could be done about the situation he returned to the stove, gave a little shake to the coffee-pot, brought the frying-pan of bacon back over the warm part of the stove and carefully resumed his slow, methodical cooking. “The station wagon’s out back of the barn. Anyhow, I hope she is. We’ll take a look around as soon’s I get this breakfast out of the way.”
Rob Trenton dashed in to put on clothes, then out again to look at tracks. It was difficult to tell much about man tracks because Rob and Joe had made so many tracks the night before in unloading the baggage, but there were tire tracks going in the driveway and there were tire tracks going out of the driveway. These last tracks showed unmistakably, that the car had been turned north on the highway, in a direction away from town.
Trenton returned for breakfast and said, “I’m going to have to notify Linda Carroll. She has all the data on motor number, engine number and all that, and I suppose, of course, the car is insured.”