Swiftwater put his arm around me and kissed me on the forehead.
“We’ll be over early for you for breakfast tomorrow,” said Swiftwater as they went down the stairs.
Holding the baby in my arms at the window, I watched Swiftwater and Bera go down the street, Bera turning now and again to wave her hand and throw a kiss to me, Swiftwater lifting his hat.
Now, what I am about to relate may seem almost incredible to any normal human mind and heart; and especially so to those thousands of Alaskans who knew Swiftwater in the early days to be jolly, though impractical, yet always generous, whole-souled, brave and honest.
An hour after Swiftwater and Bera had gone, there was a knock at my door. I opened it and there stood Phil Wilson—an old associate and friend of Swiftwater’s.
“Is Bill Gates here?” asked Wilson.
“Why, no,” said I. “They went over an hour ago.”
“Thank you,” said he, and lumbered heavily down the stairs.
The next morning I waited until 11 o’clock for Swiftwater and Bera to come for me to go to breakfast. I had slept little or none the night before and my nerves were worn down to the fine edge that comes just before a total collapse.
When it seemed as if I could not wait longer, there came a knock at the door.