He drove out of New Smyrna in silence. The two girls ate the chicken sandwiches silently and ferociously. Gerda said, “Is that Scotch you’ve got there?”
Denny handed the flask over his shoulder without a word. He was beginning to understand why Gerda looked after the outfit, as she called it. She wasn’t slow in getting what she wanted.
They drove along the Indian River. It was just dusk enough to see the luminous water, ruffled by an increasing wind. Every now and then faint flames seemed to be flickering along the top of the water. The scene so enchanted Denny that he forgot to be annoyed any more, and slowed down so that he could concentrate. Overhead a flight of herons passed, looking dark against the evening sky. Woodpeckers still continued to plunge from the telephone wires like rockets after minnows.
“This is a grand country,” Denny said to Stella. “I’m mighty glad I decided to come here for my vacation.”
“Why are you alone?” she asked. “Haven’t you got a wife or a girl friend?”
Denny shook his head. “I guess not,” he said. “I’ve been too busy making money. Believe it or not, this is the first real holiday I’ve had in ten years.”
Gerda said softly in his ear, “Have you made a lot of money?”
Denny grinned. “Oh, I guess so. Enough to get by.”
“What do you call big money?” she persisted. “Ten grand, twenty grand, fifty grand—how much?”
“Five hundred thousand,” Denny said, half to himself. “Believe me, it’s nice to feel you’ve made that little lot just by yourself.”