They were silent. Then she pointed over the motor-man’s shoulder, and he saw a vast stretch of leveled azure, like sky ironed out smooth.
“And—you’re—going—across!” she said suddenly—“still after the Big Story that you’ve always been looking for. And oh, Dicky, I’ll go to see them when you’re gone—your mother and aunt and sister.”
“It did a lot for me to learn that you had called.”
“Dicky,” she said solemnly, “when they told me what you’d done in Paris——”
“Let’s not—Pidge.”
“And when I remembered that Sunday afternoon you took me to your house—and what a beast I was—oh, how that hurt! I’ve been so sorry and so grateful.”
He had seen Pidge with the baby in her arms. He had held the baby himself, in fact, while she got breakfast one morning, and their laughter had disturbed Mr. Adolph Musser, who felt that the world was no place for such laughter with his nerves in the condition they were.
“His back feels so funny,” Dicky had reported concerning the infant.
Pidge gave him a look, and went on timing the eggs. Mr. Musser’s egg had to lie three and one-half minutes in water that had ceased to boil.