“I s-saw the s-stars,” Donnie indorsed.
“And Bobby was taken at last and had to shake hands with his guests.”
“Had to?” objected Bob politely. “Delighted to see you.”
At that there was a roar in the big, deep, fresh young voices, and at the end Donnie’s slow tones, which were yet never ignored, put in.
“We thought it was so g-good of B-Bobby to ask us all up here to have a nice time in a q-quiet way. He said it would be q-quiet, but he could promise us a hearty w-welcome. He s-said he wanted to see us so m-much.”
“So he jabs us into the river with a pole!”
“Frostiest reception I ever got.”
And other comments.
We had a week with the lads. Buck killed a caribou, and Hal Harriman missed one, and Donnie took a five-and-a-half-pound trout. Some of them got ducks and partridges; and all had general good fishing; there were long, rough tramps to remember, and trips to unknown lakes; there was much swimming, but always with care for the clothes to be worn later. The great god Pan did not again pose as a half-done Venus. I could not tell which boy I liked best, but in Walter’s case there was an intimacy with Donnie. It began over photography, when Walter took the youngster into his room one day to show him films and prints made in the woods. We heard sounds of laughter and Donnie’s slow tones urging something, but while we were in camp the secret of the interview was not divulged. It came out a month later in a letter from New Haven.