In that glowing mood he had met and married a girl who went
into Big Basin with her mother and camped for three weeks. The
girl had taken frequent trips to Boulder Creek, and twice had
gone on to San Jose, and she had made it a point to ride with the
driver because she was crazy about cars. So she said. Marie had
all the effect of being a pretty girl. She habitually wore white
middies with blue collar and tie, which went well with her clear,
pink skin and her hair that just escaped being red. She knew how
to tilt her "beach" hat at the most provocative angle, and she
knew just when to let Bud catch a slow, sidelong glance--of
the kind that is supposed to set a man's heart to syncopatic
behavior. She did not do it too often. She did not powder too
much, and she had the latest slang at her pink tongue's tip and
was yet moderate in her use of it.
Bud did not notice Marie much on the first trip. She was
demure, and Bud had a girl in San Jose who had brought him to
that interesting stage of dalliance where he wondered if he dared
kiss her good night the next time he called. He was preoccupiedly
reviewing the she-said-and-then-I-said, and trying to make up his
mind whether he should kiss her and take a chance on her
displeasure, or whether he had better wait.
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