That same day, about noon, Terry Temple, flashing across country in her
car, met Blenham on the country road. She was going toward Red Creek,
her errand urgent as were always the errands of Terry. Half a mile
away she knew him, first by the white stocking of his favorite mare,
second by his big bulk and the way it sat the saddle.
So, quite like the old Packard whom she so heartily detested, she gave
him the horn and never an inch of the road which was none too wide.
Blenham, his mouth working, jerked his horse out of the way, down over
the edge of the slope, and cursed after her as she passed him.
Terry, in Red Creek, went straight to the store and to a shelf in a far
and dusty corner where were all of the purchasable books of the
village. A thumb in her mouth, a frown in her eyes, she regarded them
long and soberly.
In the end she severed the Gordian knot by taking an even dozen
volumes. There were a grammar, an ancient history, some composition
books, and, most important of all, a treatise upon social usages.
How to write letters, what R. S. V. P. meant, "Mr. and Mrs. So-and-so
request and so forth," how a lady should greet a gentleman friend--in
short, an answer to all possible questions of right and wrong ways of
appearing in polite society. With her purchases stowed away in a
cracker-box Terry turned again toward the ranch.
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