The sun broke through the heavy mist and the two ladies peeled off several layers of covering. For all Judy’s abstraction, she couldn’t help identifying them through their formal address of each other.
“Miss Simms, that mountain is Granite.”
“Look at the map, Miss Clark, it’s Mt. Massive.”
The gray, fuzzy ringleted Miss Clark in her mouselike turban was still cheering for Granite. Miss Simms, her hair a shiny black, two spots of rouge giving her an odd, clownlike look, stoutly maintained otherwise. Suddenly Judy remembered: These were the two birdlike visitors whom she had tried to sketch at the Seminar Building.
“I see you lost your job as guide,” Judy remarked to Fran.
He nodded, “Teachers are smart but queer. Imagine, they came to the office yesterday just to find out the exact route so they could be prepared with maps and things.”
“Not music teachers?”
“No, High School. They were in Aspen three weeks and took in every lecture night and day and concerts in between.” Fran shook his head over such incredible industry. “In the fifteen minutes they were in the office they gave me advice as if I were their long lost brother.”
“About what?”
“About learning. ‘You don’t want to be a cab driver all your life? How about studying at night? Or taking correspondence courses. There are some good ones.’” Fran shrugged his shoulders. “I told them I like what I’m doing—making money, helping Mom out with the kids, skiing in winter, and I make money then too, enjoying life. They looked kind of disgusted or maybe just disappointed. ‘Where’s your ambition?’ they asked.”