“Oh, I won’t vote. That’s the silliest thing I ever heard of. Seems to me the driver ought to make the decisions, like a captain of a ship.”
Something about the recent association made Camille say, “I vote for the old road. I’m so tired and dirty now, nothing would make much difference to me.”
Juan looked down and his eyes sharpened when he saw Norma’s face. She didn’t look like the same girl. And Norma knew he had noticed. “I say the old road,” she said breathlessly.
Ernest Horton found a chair, the one Mrs. Breed ordinarily used when her legs swelled up in the afternoons. He had been watching the counting of noses.
“I don’t much care,” he said. “Of course, I’d like to get to L.A., but it don’t make much difference. I’ll stick with the others, whatever they say.”
Van Brunt put the can down loudly on the counter. “It’s going to rain,” he said. “That back road can get awful slippery. You might not make it up over the hill, to the eastward. It’s steep and slick. If you mired down there I don’t know how you’d ever get out.”
“But you’re the one that suggested it,” Mildred said.
“I’m just getting all the objections down,” Van Brunt said. “Just getting them in order.”
“How would you vote?” Juan asked.
“Oh, I won’t vote. That’s the silliest thing I ever heard of. Seems to me the driver ought to make the decisions, like a captain of a ship.”
