"Yes." Her eyes wide and searching, her face and body taut. "Why?"
"Wondered. Am I being played for a patsy?"
Silence while she studied him. Silence while the raft gently rocked, and the world. "Patsy?" she asked.
"Forget it. You have a great charm and an unholy animal attraction for me, Martha Klein, and maybe we'd better get back to shore and have a quiet cigarette."
They had a cigarette and a hot dog with a skin on it, the first Doak had ever seen. They had grape pop and a few laughs. Fun in the sun at Dubbinville, U.S.A. Wouldn't the gang at home get a belt out of this? And where was June's bright metallic laughter being heard this golden afternoon?
They walked back to town quietly, exertion-spent, sun-calmed. They came up onto the porch, and Mrs. Klein looked from Martha's face to Doak's and frowned—and sighed.
"Fun?" she asked.
"Wonderful," Doak said. "And Martha surprised me by being able to swim. None of my other girls can swim a lick."
"Martha's no girl," Mrs. Klein said. "She's twenty-seven."
Martha laughed. "Why, mother, you'll never get rid of me that way."