A Room Without

"Oh, stick it in that stall," grunted the man, and turned his back.

Claire glowered at him. She thought of a good line about rudeness.
But--oh, she was too tired to fuss. She tried to run the car into the
empty stall, which was not a stall, but a space, like a missing tooth,
between two cars, and so narrow that she was afraid of crumpling the
lordly fenders of the Gomez. She ran down the floor, returned with a
flourish, thought she was going to back straight into the stall--and
found she wasn't. While her nerves shrieked, and it did not seem
possible that she could change gears, she managed to get the Gomez
behind a truck and side-on to the stall.

"Go forward again, and cramp your wheel--sharp!" ordered the garage man.

Claire wanted to outline what she thought of him, but she merely
demanded, "Will you kindly drive it in?"

"Why, sure. You bet," said the man casually. His readiness ruined her
inspired fury. She was somewhat disappointed.

As she climbed out of the car and put a hand on the smart bags strapped
on a running-board, the accumulated weariness struck her in a shock. She
could have driven on for hours, but the instant the car was safe for the
night, she went to pieces. Her ears rang, her eyes were soaked in fire,
her mouth was dry, the back of her neck pinched. It was her father who
took the lead as they rambled to the one tolerable hotel in the town.