The morning sun was bright on the quilted bedspread when he opened his eyes. There was no sound of meal preparation in the house, no dialogue. Was it early?
It was ten o'clock. Not since he was a child had he enjoyed as long and satisfying a sleep as this.
When he came out of the bathroom Mrs. Klein was in the hall. "About five minutes?" she asked.
"Make it two," he told her and winked. "I'm starving."
Martha had already gone to work. Doak sat down alone to popovers and oatmeal, eggs and Canadian bacon. And real coffee. He had an almost animal sense of well being. His decision to go back to Washington, which had seemed so final last night, was fading under the Dubbinville spell.
After breakfast he walked down to the station and inquired about Milwaukee-bound trains.
"There's one due at noon," the agent told him. "Stops on signal. You want me to stop it?"
"That's kind of early," Doak said. "When's the next?"
"At six tonight. A local. Doesn't need a signal."
That would be soon enough. Doak left and walked slowly up the main street of Dubbinville. He was walking past the bank when the beard caught his gaze.