Not looking too completely dishevelled himself, he stood there, as a girl—briskly early in dress and impulse, so as not to waste the bright morning—opened the door.
"Yeah, Nance—me," he croaked apologetically. "Ramos has reached Pluto!"
"I know, Frankie!" she burst out.
But his words rushed on. "I've been goofing off—by Hickman's Lake. Over now. Emotional indigestion, I guess—from living too big, before I could take it. I figured you might be here. If you weren't, I'd come... Because I know where I belong. Nance—I hope you're not angry. Maybe we're pulling together, at last?"
"Angry—when I was the first fumbler? How could that be, Frank? Oh, I knew where you were—folks found out. I told them to leave you alone, because I understood some of what you were digging through. Because it was a little the same—for me... So, you see, I didn't just tag after you." She laughed a little. "That wouldn't be proud, would it? Even though Joe and Two-and-Two said I had to go bring you back..."
His arms went tight around her, right there on the old porch. "Nance—love you," he whispered. "And we've got to be tough. Everybody's got to be tough—to match what we've come to. Even little kids. But it was always like that—on any kind of frontier, wasn't it? A few will get killed, but more will live—many more..."
Like that, Frank Nelsen shook the last of the cobwebs out of his brain—and got back to his greater destiny.
"I'll buy all of that philosophy," Nance chuckled gently. "But you still look as though you needed some breakfast, Frank."
He grinned. "Later. Let's go to see Paul, first. A big day for him—because of Ramos. Paul is getting feeble, I suppose?" Nelsen's face had sobered.
"Not so you could notice it much, Frank," Nance answered. "There's a new therapy—another side of What's Coming, I guess..."