Nevertheless, the case was not so bad as either of them thought. If it had been, then were marriage not only a failure, but a practical impossibility. If two men can get over the first few days in camp without a quarrel, life becomes easier, and the tension relaxes.
Renmark, as he polished off his ten miles, paid little heed to those he met; but one driver drew up his horse and accosted him.
“Good-day,” he said. “How are you getting on in the tent?”
The professor was surprised at the question. Had their tenting-out eccentricity gone all over the country? He was not a quick man at recognizing people, belonging, as he did, to the “I-remember-your-face-but-can’t-recall-your-name” fraternity. It had been said of him that he never, at any one time, knew the names of more than half a dozen students in his class; but this was an undergraduate libel on him. The young man who had accosted him was driving a single horse, attached to what he termed a “democrat”—a four-wheeled light wagon, not so slim and elegant as a buggy, nor so heavy and clumsy as a wagon. Renmark looked up at the driver with confused unrecognition, troubled because he vaguely felt that he had met him somewhere before. But his surprise at being addressed speedily changed into amazement as he looked from the driver to the load. The “democrat” was heaped with books. The larger volumes were stuck along the sides with some regularity, and in this way kept the miscellaneous pile from being shaken out on the road. His eye glittered with a new interest as it rested on the many-colored bindings; and he recognized in the pile the peculiar brown covers of the “Bohn” edition of classic translations, that were scattered like so many turnips over the top of this ridge of literature. He rubbed his eyes to make sure he was not dreaming. How came a farmer’s boy to be driving a wagon load of books in the wilds of the country as nonchalantly as if they were so many bushels of potatoes?
The young driver, who had stopped his horse, for the load was heavy and the sand was deep, saw that the stranger not only did not recognize him, but that from the moment he saw the books he had forgotten everything else. It was evidently necessary to speak again.
“If you are coming back, will you have a ride?” he asked.
“I—I think I will,” said the professor, descending to earth again and climbing up beside the boy.
“I see you don’t remember me,” said the latter, starting his horse again. “My name is Howard. I passed you in my buggy when you were coming in with your tent that day on the Ridge. Your partner—what’s his name—Yates, isn’t it?—had dinner at our house the other day.”
“Ah, yes. I recollect you now. I thought I had seen you before; but it was only for a moment, you know. I have a very poor memory so far as people are concerned. It has always been a failing of mine. Are these your books? And how do you happen to have such a quantity?”
“Oh, this is the library,” said young Howard.