“All right,” Johnny agreed. “Ice-box cookies, hot chocolate and sunshine. That will be keen.”
“Dreams,” he was thinking. “How often when things are hard, very hard, we dream.” As he closed his eyes now he could see dead salmon in endless rows. He could hear the monotonous drone of brown men and the endless wash-wash of the sea. “How grand at times to dream of other things far away!” he said. “And what a joy to know of other places where we have been gloriously happy.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “that is wonderful. And Johnny,” she went on, “we have a home in Seattle, father and I. It is small, but, oh, so beautiful! Climbing roses and pine trees. There’s a lake before it. There is a dancing pavilion not far away where the boys and girls I know best come. There they swing and sway to bewitching waltz time. Over the Waves, Blue Danube and all the rest. Johnny, will you come sometime and join us there?” Her voice seemed dreamy and far away.
“Yes,” said Johnny. “Some day I’ll come.”
“But first,” he thought savagely, “I’ll see this infernal boat at the bottom of the sea.”
For a time after that they were silent. Once again they heard the beating of ropes against spars, the wail of the wind and the dash of spray on the deck. How was all this to end?
“Rusty,” Johnny said, “I would like to leave you for a while.”
“Why?”
“There’s something I want to do. You know,” he leaned close, speaking in a hoarse whisper, “there’s a hole in the gas tank of your boat.”
“Yes, but—”