"But," said the clerk, "you got to get a permit to fish in that lake. Have you got a pull with the Water Company? Are you a stockholder?"Condy's face fell, and Blix gave a little gasp of dismay. They looked at each other. Here was a check, indeed.
"Well," said the sublime being in shirt sleeves from behind the counter, "see what you can do; and if you can't make it, come back here an' lemmeno, and we'll fix you up in some other place. But Lake San Andreas has been bang-up this last week--been some great kills there; hope to the deuce you can make it."Everything now hinged upon this permit. It was not until their expedition had been in doubt that Condy and Blix realized how alluring had been its prospects.
"Oh, I guess you can get a permit," said the clerk soothingly.
"An' if you make any good kills, lemmeno and I'll put it in the paper. I'm the editor of the 'Sport-with-Gun-and-Rod' column in 'The Press,'" he added with a flush of pride.
Toward the middle of the afternoon Blix, who was waiting at home, in great suspense, for that very purpose, received another telegram from Condy:
"Tension of situation relieved. Unconditional permission obtained. Don't forget the shrimps."It had been understood that Condy was to come to the flat on Sunday afternoon to talk over final arrangements with Blix. But as it was, Saturday evening saw him again at the Bessemers.
He had been down at his club in the library, writing the last paragraphs of his diver's story, when, just as he finished, Sargeant discovered him.
"Why, Conny, old man, all alone here? Let's go downstairs and have a cigar. Hendricks and George Hands are coming around in half an hour. They told me not to let you get away."Condy stirred nervously in his chair. He knew what that meant.
He had enough money in his pockets to play that night, and in an instant the enemy was all awake. The rowel was in his flank again, and the scourge at his back. Sargeant stood there, the well-groomed clubman of thirty; a little cynical perhaps, but a really good fellow for all that, and undeniably fond of Condy.
But somewhere with the eyes of some second self Condy saw the girl of nineteen, part child and part woman; saw her goodness, her fine, sweet feminine strength as it were a dim radiance; "What's a good man worth, Condy," she had said, "if he's not a strong man?""I suppose we'll have a game going before midnight," admitted Sargeant resignedly, smiling good-humoredly nevertheless.
Condy set his teeth. "I'll join you later. Wait a few moments,"he said. He hurried to the office of the club, and sent a despatch to Blix--the third since morning:
"Can I come up right away? It's urgent. Send answer by this messenger."He got his answer within three-quarters of an hour, and left the club as Hendricks and George Hands arrived by the elevator entrance.
Sitting in the bay window of the dining-room, he told Blix why he had come.
"Oh, you were right!" she told him. "Always, ALWAYS come, when--when you feel you must."
"It gets so bad sometimes, Blix," he confessed with abject self-contempt, "that when I can't get some one to play against I'll sit down and deal dummy hands, and bet on them. Just the touch of the cards--just the FEEL of the chips. Faugh! it's shameful."The day following, Sunday, Condy came to tea as usual; and after the meal, as soon as the family and Victorine had left the pair alone in the dining-room, they set about preparing for their morrow's excursion. Blix put up their lunch--sandwiches of what Condy called "devilish" ham, hard-boiled eggs, stuffed olives, and a bottle of claret.
Condy took off his coat and made a great show of stringing the tackle: winding the lines from the spools on to the reels, and attaching the sinkers and flies to the leaders, smoking the while, and scowling fiercely. He got the lines fearfully and wonderfully snarled, he caught the hooks in the table-cloth, he lost the almost invisible gut leaders on the floor and looped the sinkers on the lines when they should have gone on the leaders. In the end Blix had to help him out, disentangling the lines foot by foot with a patience that seemed to Condy little short of superhuman.
At nine o'clock she said decisively:
"Do you know what time we must get up in the morning if we are to have breakfast and get the seven-forty train? Quarter of six by the latest, and YOU must get up earlier than that, because you're at the hotel and have further to go. Come here for breakfast, and--listen--be here by half-past six--are you LISTENING, Condy?--and we'll go down to the depot from here. Don't forget to bring the rods.""I'll wear my bicycle suit," he said, "and one of those golf scarfs that wrap around your neck.""No," she declared, "I won't have it. Wear the oldest clothes you've got, but look fairly respectable, because we're to go to Luna's when we get back, remember. And now go home; you need all the sleep you can get if you are to get up at six o'clock."Instead of being late, as Blix had feared, Condy was absurdly ahead of time the next morning. For a wonder, he had not forgotten the rods; but he was one tremor of nervousness. He would eat no breakfast.
"We're going to miss that train," he would announce from time to time; "I just know it. Blix, look what time it is. We ought to be on the way to the depot now. Come on; you don't want any more coffee. Have you got everything? Did you put the reels in the lunch-basket?--and the fly-book? Lord, if we should forget the fly-book!"He managed to get her to the depot over half an hour ahead of time. The train had not even backed in, nor the ticket office opened.
"I told you, Condy, I told you," complained Blix, sinking helplessly upon a bench in the waiting-room.
