“I wish I could row as well as you can.” Mame was still wistful. Bill was a “wet bob” and already he had demonstrated to Miss Du Rance the worth of his early training. “Any fool can.” Yet he must have known that any fool could not.
“Such a night as it is,” sighed Mame. “I never saw a moon that size.”
Bill, poor loon, had never seen a moon that size either.
“Just dandy how those beams strike the water.” Who was the guy in the office calendar who got away with
The stag at eve had drunk his fill,
Where danced the moon on Monan’s rill?
Old man Burns, wasn’t it? Or was it old man Scott? Under the magic spell of the moon on the water, Mame moved a little nearer. “Say, bo,” she whispered in the tone that always amused him, yet with a little shiver of feeling in it that in the trancéd ear of Bill was something more than merely amusing, “that little rill out there does look good to me.”
The mobility of Bill’s mind was still nothing remarkable, but it sufficed. “If you’ll put on a cloak or something, we might go and see if we can find that boat we had the other day.”
“That’ll be bully,” sighed Mame softly to the moon.