“If ever I wish to communicate with that bright-eyed lady, I’ll address my letters thus:
“‘To the Goddess of Adventure,
The Bright-eyed Waterfall,
Pictured Rocks,
Iowa, U. S. A.’”
“You drop that goddess of adventure. I don’t believe in no such foolishness as that.”
“All right, Abe, if you don’t believe in her, she doesn’t exist. Now for the top.”
Up they went, with quick steps and, as regards Clarence, steady breathing. Abe was puffing. Loose living had reached out into the future and gained for him the “far off interest of years.” Abe belonged to that steadily increasing class of Americans who, growing up without recognition of any law of God or man are destined to be short-lived in the land.
Presently, they were at the summit.
“Look,” cried Abe, his sulkiness yielding momentarily to a spark of enthusiasm. He led the way forward a few feet and paused.