Detour Read Free

far the most valuable finger on my hand was my thumb.
    I shoved back the table and hopped out of the booth. “Sure, if you'd rather, Mr. Haskell. Only I thought it save a little time if we ordered now and then washed while he was getting it.”
    Haskell nodded. I knew I'd scored. “Maybe you're right at that, Detroit. I want to make Los Angeles before Saturday, so you see every minute counts.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “I've got a line on a plug that runs back east at Belmont Park. It means dough to me if I can get in town before the race.”
    I yessed him again. What was he telling me all this for? He didn't want to get there any quicker than I did. It seemed like years since last I saw Sue. In all that time I'd been living the life of a monk.... Well, practically the life of monk. Sue told me before she left that she didn't expect me to be faithful to her—although she, naturally, would be faithful to me. “Men aren't built that way,” she said, “and as long as it doesn't mean anything, I don't really mind. So go out when you feel like it and have a good time.” I thought that was very broad minded of her, yet somehow, I didn't like it. I wanted her to want me to be faithful—even if I wasn't.
    Haskell was looking at the menu. “How about a steak, Detroit?”
    Imagine! A steak!
    “Do you mean it?” I stammered. The guy didn't sound like a ribber.
    “Why not? That's what I'm having.”
    Then and there I decided this fellow was tops. Feature it. He not only lifts me for hundreds of miles, he buys me steak dinners! And to think that a couple of minutes before I'd been reading the menu from right to left. I didn't know the proper thing to say to him, so I didn't say anything.
    “Two sirloin steak dinners,” he told the grinning duck at his elbow. “And be sure you make them rare.”
    “Yes, sir. Very good, sir.”
    I liked mine well done, but I let it go at that.
    It was while I was scrubbing the thick layer of road-dust from my face and hands that I first took a good look at this angel of mine. You know how it is. When you're strictly on your rear-end you kind of feel inferior; you don't look a guy over to size him up when he's giving you a break. You feel thankful enough to be getting the break. Haskell was behind me, looking into the wall-mirror over my shoulder while he combed his hair. He had a rather a handsome face, only it looked a little bloated, as if he'd been keeping late hours or something. It was tanned from the sun, but even so it had the appearance of pallor, a certain puffiness under his eyes and around the corners of his mouth. The eyes themselves were brown like mine, only they were bloodshot and tired and the pupils looked dilated a little—caused by driving too much, no doubt. He was about my own height and build, but probably three or four years my senior. The thing that struck me funny, though, was his nose. It was almost the duplicate of my own. His had the same kind of bump at the bridge which sort of threw the nose a little to one side. And the nostrils flared, too. He must have seen me staring at it, because he asked what was up. I told him.
    “You think we look alike?” He frowned a little into the glass.
    “Oh, I don't know. I can't see a resemblance.”
    “Well,” I insisted, “you're older than me, for one thing. But take a look at my nose. See, that bump there? I broke it, riding the tail-board of an ice-wagon when I was ten. You've got that kind of a bump, too.
    “He laughed at that. “I assure you, bud, I was never on an ice-wagon in my life.”
    “No, but you've got that bump. I'll grant you we don't look like brothers, but...”
    “Well, you can have the job of posing for all my passport photographs. How about that?”
    “No, but seriously, Mr. Haskell, don't you think—”
    “I can't see it,” he cut in, getting tired of the conversation. “If you're ready, let's get going.”
    I shut up pronto. He was just in a hurry, not sore. Nevertheless, I wouldn't have