When he came off the court, feeling fine and heading for the water, big Chuck Weigal called to him.
"So the Observer finally got wise to you, huh? How come?"
Fallon grinned, his teeth white against the mahogany burn of his hard, lean oval face. His corded body gleamed in the hot sun, and his slanting grey-green eyes were mockingly bright.
"If you must know," he said, "I was busy drowning my sorrows on the night of the big quake, two weeks ago. I didn't know anything about it until I read the papers next morning. The boss seemed to think I was a little—er—negligent."
Weigal grunted. "I don't wonder. A quake as bad as the 'Frisco one, and you sleep through it! Phew!"
Fallon grinned, and went on. About half-way down the beach a bright yellow bathing suit caught his eye. He whistled softly and followed it into the water. After all, now that Madge was gone....
He knew the girl by sight. Fallon had an eye for blonde hair and Diana-esque figures. That was one thing Madge and he had fought about.
The girl swam like a mermaid. Fallon lengthened his stroke, came up beside her, and said, "Hello."
She blinked salt water out of sapphire blue eyes and stared. "I know you," she said. "You're Webb Fallon."
"I'm flattered."