“Receive news!” announced Desirée, one evening as she met Caleb on her return from a conference with Mrs. Hawarden. “To-morrow’s my birthday.”
“Did you s’pose I’d forgot?” he asked in reproach,—“There’s two dates I always manage to remember. One’s your birthday. The other’s the day you’re comin’ back to Granite.”
“But that isn’t the news,” she went on. “It’s only a running start to get you ready for it. Mrs. Hawarden’s going to celebrate by the gorgeousest picnic you ever heard of.”
“Last one we went on,” began Caleb, “I burnt two of my fingers; an’ there was sand in the lem’nade. But,” he broke off just in time, “it’ll be great to go on another. Where’s it to be?”
“To Brown’s Tract pond. ’Way up at the head of Brown’s Tract Inlet. You remember? The inlet that twists around like a snake that’s swallowed a corkscrew? We’re going to spend the night. Just think of that! All four of us. The guide is going up early in the morning to pitch the two tents and get everything ready. And we’re to stramble along at our leisure and get there about noon. Think! We’re actually to camp overnight. I wish there were bears or catamounts or something, to come not too near and growl dreadfully. I’m going to take Rex along if Mr. Bennett will let me. And—isn’t it a nice way to wind up your vacation? You’ll have plenty of time. We’ll be back here by noon next day, and your train doesn’t go till night.”
“Let’s not talk about my going away,” he replied. “I thought I’d be tickled to death to get back to the fight. But for the past two days I’ve been tryin’ to frame up an excuse to myself that’d let me stay longer.”
“Oh, why don’t you? Why don’t you?” she cried, all eagerness. “I stump you to! Please stay!”
“Don’t, little girl!” he urged. “If I could stay with you an extra hour, d’you s’pose I’d need to be begged to? It’ a case of must. I got to be on deck day after to-morrow. That special session of the Legislature I was tellin’ you about meets week after next. An’ I’ve got to work like a dog till then to lick my crowd into line an’ frame up a stiff enough defence against your friend, Blacarda. I’ll be as busy as a one-armed paper-hanger that’s got hives.”
“But why?” she persisted. “You’ve been working away with both hands all your life. You’re rich. What’s the use of all that money if you can’t have some fun?”
“I get my fun in the winnin’. Not in the holdin’.”