THE CHECK
On the second morning after their abduction, when Elaine and Davila arose, the sky was obscured by fog, the trees exuded moisture, and only a small portion of the Bay was faintly visible through the mist.
“This looks natural!” said Elaine. “We must have moved out to Northumberland, in the night.”
Davila smiled, a feeble sort of smile. It was not a morning to promote light-heartedness, and particularly under such circumstances.
“Is this anything like Northumberland?” she asked.
“Yes!—Only Northumberland is more so. For a misty day, this would be remarkably fine.—With us, it’s midnight at noon—all the lights burning, in streets, and shops, and electric cars, bells jangling, people rushing, pushing, diving through the dirty blackness, like devils in hell. Oh, it’s pleasant, when you get used to it.—Ever been there?”
“No,” said Davila, “I haven’t.”
“We must have you out—say, immediately after the holidays. Will you come?”
“I’ll be glad to come, if I’m alive—and we ever get out of this awful place.”
“It is stupid here,” said Elaine. “I thought 311 there was something novel in being abducted, but it’s rather dreary business. I’m ready to quit, are you?”