“He promised to bring his guitar, and to get a friend who has a mandolin, if the strings are not broken!” laughed Crothers of the railroad.
“Cordoza plays wonderfully!” cried Mrs. Hardin. “If I were eighty, I could dance to his waltzes!”
“The deck’s ripping,” cried MacLean, his eyes still full of Innes Hardin, “and in the moonlight it’s a pippin!”
“It isn’t a battle.” Innes looked around the gay rectangle. “It’s play!”
The thought followed her that evening. Outside, where the moonlight was silvering the deck, and the quiet river lapped the sides of the dredge, Jose’s strings, and his “amigo’s” throbbing from a dark corner, made the illusion of peace convincing. This was no battle. Breck, of the Reclamation Service, was dancing with her. The modern complexity of the situation fell away from her; the purpose of the Delta, of the gathering army of laborers, of the pile-drivers in the river, was obscured. The concentrating struggle against the marauding Dragon of the Colorado delta, that was the illusion. It was easy to believe herself again at Mare Island, or Annapolis—the Delta a cruiser, and young Breck one of Uncle Sam’s sailors.
Later, Gerty passed her, two-stepping divinely. Before her partner turned his head, Innes recognized the stiff back and straight poised head and dancing step of Rickard. Every muscle in control; it was the distinction of the man. She admitted he had distinction, grudgingly. She could not think of him except comparatively; always antithetically, balanced against her Tom. She wished Tom would not slouch so. Tom had all the big virtues, none of his faults was petty. But he was being nagged into unloveliness.
“I’m tired; let’s rest here.” She drew into the shadow of the great arm of the dredge. They watched the dancers as they passed, MacLean playing the woman in “Pete’s” arms, Gerty with Rickard, two other masculine couples. The Hardins were the only women aboard.
It was because of Tom that Innes felt resentment when the uplifted appealing chin, the lace ruffles fluttered by. Tom, lying outside an unfriendly tent!
“Don’t they dance superbly?” Breck’s eyes were following the couple, too.
“Come on, let’s dance.” She pretended not to hear him.