Part 23 (1/2)

They ate their dinner in olympic splendor, atop a dune. Heyl produced unexpected things from the rucksack--things that ranged all the way from milk chocolate to literature, and from grape juice to cigarettes.

They ate ravenously, but at Heyl's thrifty suggestion they saved a few sandwiches for the late afternoon. It was he, too, who made a little bonfire of papers, crusts, and bones, as is the cleanly habit of your true woodsman. Then they stretched out, full length, in the noon sun, on the warm, clean sand.

”What's your best price on one-sixth doz. flannel vests?” inquired Heyl.

And, ”Oh, shut up!” said f.a.n.n.y, elegantly. Heyl laughed as one who hugs a secret.

”We'll work our way down the beach,” he announced, ”toward Millers.

There'll be northern lights to-night; did you know that? Want to stay and see them?”

”Do I want to! I won't go home till I have.”

These were the things they did on that holiday; childish, happy, tiring things, such as people do who love the outdoors.

The charm of Clarence Heyl--for he had charm--is difficult to transmit.

His lovableness and appeal lay in his simplicity. It was not so much what he said as in what he didn't say. He was staring unwinkingly now at the sunset that had suddenly burst upon them. His were the eyes of one accustomed to the silent distances.

”Takes your breath away, rather, doesn't it? All that color?” said f.a.n.n.y, her face toward the blaze.

”Almost too obvious for my taste. I like 'em a little more subdued, myself.” They were atop a dune, and he stretched himself flat on the sand, still keeping his bright brown eyes on lake and sky. Then he sat up, excitedly. ”Heh, try that! Lie flat. It softens the whole thing.

Like this. Now look at it. The lake's like molten copper flowing in.

And you can see that silly sun going down in jerks, like a balloon on a string.”

They lay there, silent, while the scarlet became orange, the orange faded to rose, the rose to pale pink, to salmon, to mauve, to gray.

The first pale star came out, and the brazen lights of Gary, far to the north, defied it. f.a.n.n.y sat up with a sigh and a little s.h.i.+ver.

”Fasten up that sweater around your throat,” said Heyl. ”Got a pin?”

They munched their sandwiches, rather soggy by now, and drank the last of the grape juice. ”We'll have a bite of hot supper in town, at a restaurant that doesn't mind Sunday trampers. Come on, Fan. We'll start down the beach until the northern lights begin to show.”

”It's been the most accommodating day,” murmured f.a.n.n.y. ”Suns.h.i.+ne, sunset, northern lights, everything. If we were to demand a rainbow and an eclipse they'd turn those on, too.”

They started to walk down the beach in the twilight, keeping close to the water's edge where the sand was moist and firm. It was hard going.

They plunged along arm in arm, in silence. Now and again they stopped, with one accord, and looked out over the great gray expanse that lay before them, and then up at the hills and the pines etched in black against the sky. Nothing compet.i.tive here, f.a.n.n.y thought, and took a deep breath. She thought of to-morrow's work, with day after to-morrow's biting and snapping at its heels.

Clarence seemed to sense her thoughts. ”Doesn't this make you feel you want to get away from those d.a.m.ned bins that you're forever feeding?

I watched those boys for a minute, the other day, outside your office.

Jove!”

f.a.n.n.y dug a heel into the sand, savagely. ”Some days I feel that I've got to walk out of the office, and down the street, without a hat, and on, and on, walking and walking, and running now and then, till I come to the horizon. That's how I feel, some days.”

”Then some day, f.a.n.n.y, that feeling will get too strong for you, and you'll do it. Now listen to me. Tuck this away in your subconscious mind, and leave it there until you need it. When that time comes get on a train for Denver. From Denver take another to Estes Park. That's the Rocky Mountains, and they're your destination, because that's where the horizon lives and has its being. When you get there ask for Heyl's place. They'll just hand you from one to the other, gently, until you get there. I may be there, but more likely I shan't. The key's in the mail box, tied to a string. You'll find a fire already laid, in the fireplace, with fat pine knots that will blaze up at the touch of a match. My books are there, along the walls. The bedding's in the cedar chest, and the lamps are filled. There's tinned stuff in the pantry. And the mountains are there, girl, to make you clean and whole again. And the pines that are nature's prophylactic brushes. And the sky. And peace. That sounds like a railway folder, but it's true. I know.” They trudged along in silence for a little while. ”Got that?”

”M-m,” replied f.a.n.n.y, disinterestedly, without looking at him.

Heyl's jaw set. You could see the muscles show white for an instant.

Then he said: ”It has been a wonderful day, f.a.n.n.y, but you haven't told me a thing about yourself. I'd like to know about your work. I'd like to know what you're doing; what your plan is. You looked so darned definite up there in that office. Whom do you play with? And who's this Fenger--wasn't that the name?--who saw that you looked tired?”

”All right, Clancy. I'll tell you all about it,” f.a.n.n.y agreed, briskly.