A man who has just climbed a mountain feels a wonderful sense of accomplishment. He takes off his shoes and sprawls out with a feeling of honestly earned repose. The thin air and the great height and the unbridgeable gap in character between us and all those soft souls down below gives you a puffy pride, and you expand and expound at great length. We all did that.
The afternoon wore on into early mountain darkness, and after supper we felt like purring. Then Jack Huff came with more great logs. And we sat warm before the fireplace and under the hanging gasoline lantern and we all waxed, you might say, a little philosophic.
We finished the war (England won); we finished the election (we’re keeping the result secret); we wrapped up and shipped off the WPA; we scouted the Andes and climbed a bit around the Alps; we discussed the proper way to drive an automobile; we went through the entire curriculum of sectional dialects in America; we achieved a new definition of civilization as meaning the advance of human kindness, and decided civilization is going ahead despite everything; we told stories of bears and prodigious feats of walking; we decided how a fireplace should be built; we took up the Negro question and we talked of bank loans; we poured some steel and we figured out the best way to build an air force. It’s astounding what a half-dozen people can talk about in one evening on a mountaintop.
And then, as sort of dessert for our ruminations, Mr. Wilson carried us back to pioneer days, when our hardy ancestors first came to this country.
And so soothing were the bandages on Mr. Wilson’s feet, and so heady the wine of warmth upon Mr. Wilson’s brow, that he condemned all modern conveniences as a lot of nonsense. As for him, he’d take the pioneer way of cold bedrooms and candlelight and straw ticks. Those were the days, and those were the men, said Mr. Wilson.
And in climactic conclusion, Mr. Wilson declaimed that of all the abominations upon this earth the most despicable in his life was steam heat.
Whereupon we all retired to our cold bedrooms. If Mr. Wilson had got up this morning swearing he had slept like a baby, I think I would have kicked his sore heel. But he didn’t. He damn near froze to death, just as I did. Pioneers—Bah.
BREAKFAST EXCELLENT
But the morning sun can do much for a man. Today was clear, and our breakfast was excellent, and we faced the prospect of our seven-mile return hike almost with eagerness.
Since I like to walk alone, I started out ahead of my new friends. Twice during the first half of the downhill journey I stopped to rest. But after the second sitting, I never stopped again.