“When she gets to the bridge Bob will send back the locomotive,” Kit replied. “In the meantime we mustn’t freeze. Suppose you get up and dance?”
Beating time with his numbed feet, he tried to whistle, but he could not command his cold lips, and after a few bars he stopped.
“We must imagine the music; it goes something like that,” he remarked and Alison gave him her hand.
To turn was awkward, and when Kit swung Alison round his head struck the slanted roof. Tramping the powdery snow, they went back and he struck the frozen turf. All the light was the reflection from the cracked stove, and one must keep the wall where the roof was high; but Kit thrilled to hold Alison in his arms and for a few moments forgot that they might freeze. Then he got a harder knock and he thought their dancing in the snow was grimly humorous. The joy of harmonious movement was not theirs; they danced in order to keep alive and their music was the screaming gale. One advanced three or four steps and struck the wall; after another few steps one risked a collision with the stove.
Kit knew Alison’s pluck, but he doubted if she could keep it up and he began to get dizzy. At length she leaned against him and her body went slack. Although she was breathless he felt she shivered.
“I’m sorry, but I must stop.... If one could go straight ... by and by, perhaps, we’ll try another step.”
“Thank you,” said Kit with ceremonious politeness. “I can’t get you an ice and I doubt if you’d enjoy it. I can, however, find you a cool spot, and our band does not get tired. Since we have not a bench under flowering plants and rose-shaded lamps we must use the box.”
He pushed the box against the stove and sitting on the floor, gave Alison his skin coat.
“I’m not horribly selfish, Kit,” she said.
“Well, if you like, we’ll share the coat. At Winnipeg station I used your rug and the coat is big. I expect it was made for a fat profiteer, and I admit I bought the thing at a foreign broker’s shop. Still, when one thinks about it, profiteers don’t use coats from which the fur comes off, and perhaps mine belonged to a railroad man. We’re not fastidious. As a rule, the men who make things don’t get rich.”