Francis Galton, the inquirer into human faculty, would have been charmed at Rockwell’s casual mention of the colors of proper names. They do apparently assume definite colors that seem to him appropriate and characteristic beyond question. Clara, too, sees names as colors. Father is blue, Mother is a darker blue. The breadth of vowel sound apparently, judging from this and other examples he gave me, lowers the tone of color. Kathleen is a light yellow, very light. Now for a bite to eat, for I’ve had but two meals—and then to bed.
CHAPTER VI
EXCURSION
Thursday, December fifth.
November thirtieth we arose before daylight. It was a mild, still morning and the melting snow dripped from the trees. Without breakfast we set about at once to carry our things over to the boat. Olson was aroused and turned out to help. There’s always much to be carried on a trip to Seward; gasoline, oil, tools, my pack bag—containing clothes, heavy blankets, and spare boots,—and the grub box Olson had given me packed with mail, books, grub, and the flute. The engine was in good order and started promptly. So away we went out over the bay just as the day brightened.
It was calm and beautiful. The sun from below the horizon shot shafts of light up into the clouds, gray became pink, and pink grew into gold until at last after an hour or more the sun’s rays lighted up the mountain peaks, and we knew that he had risen. It continued calm and mild all the way, but nevertheless I caught myself singing “Erlkönig,” such is my anxiety at carrying Rockwell with me. Rockwell enjoyed the trip wrapped up in a sheepskin coat of Olson’s. We stopped at a fishing camp for a moment’s chat from the water. The man living there had just caught a good-sized wolverine. We declined breakfast and hurried on.
In Seward we stored our things in Olson’s cabin, a little place about eight feet square, and started for the hotel. One of our friends met us with a shout, “Well, you’ve had good sense to stay away so long.”