He tramped along close behind me, without saying a word. We still had more than half the distance to go to get to the cabin. Suddenly I had an idea. Maybe something in his costume, or an emblem or pin he might be wearing, would give me a topic for conversation. I turned and looked back at him, searching for pins or ornaments in his lapel and working slowly up to his face, which was ten or twelve inches higher than my own. The yard lights, bright lights on a pole on one of the grass islands, made the details of his clothing visible. Just as I got up to his eyes I was struck by his expression. He didn't say it, but I could literally feel him thinking it: "Well, what the hell are you staring at?"
We went the rest of the way in silence--still more of it. I sighed with relief as we reached the door of the single cabin--at last the ordeal was over.
And then I realized I had forgotten to bring the key!
His eyes were on me, impatient, obviously bored with my stupidity and slowness.
"I--I forgot the key. I'm very sorry. I'll go get it," I stammered.
Throwing dignity to the Banning breezes, I broke into a run as I headed back toward the office. Not only was I in a hurry to get away from the pitying contempt in his expression, but I was afraid that if he didn't get a little satisfaction soon he'd just get into his car and drive away. It would be terrible if I lost my first customer, especially after such a bad start. I'd never have the courage to tackle one again.
Seizing the master key out of the desk drawer, I rushed back and opened the door, snapping on the light and motioning him into the cabin.
His eyes flicked over the maple furniture, the red carpet, the Venetian blinds, and back to me.
"Well, the cabin's okay," he said.
We embarked on the trip back to the office, while I pondered over the inflection of his words.