"Were you thinking of anything in particular?"
"Of the unimportant men in a great office with long rows of desks and endless routine; especially of men who are growing old in it and can see no escape. I was thinking of the same thing, I remember, on Wednesday, down on the shore. It was a driving drizzle from the northeast, and gray, with rolling seas. It made the round of an office seem so futile and so useless. I envied Jimmy and Bobby and Ogilvie, off on patrol. I would have liked to be on patrol myself."
"Would you?" asked Eve. There was speculation in her eyes—and something else that I had seen there before. I could not fathom it. "How many of the men in the office—the men who are growing old—would exchange the comforts of the office for a driving drizzle out of the northeast, and gray and rolling seas—and a motor-boat? Not one in ten."
"It was that one I was thinking of."
Eve looked away from me and nodded slowly.
"Can't you leave your gardening? Come and sit down."
So I left my tools in the field, as a poor farmer leaves his tools where he has last used them in the fall, the plough beside the furrow, and the mowing-machine and the horserake at the edge of the meadow; and in the spring he is sorrowful, and wonders and bemoans the winter. And Eve took my hand in hers, and we went to my great pine and sat us down upon the bench. And, behind us, came Tidda over the wall, dragging the reluctant Sands girl, who giggled and held back; and they sat by the hole that is scooped in the ground and lined with great stones, for they would play at having a clambake. The chatter of our daughter's tongue was like an accompaniment; and nobody pays any attention to an accompaniment.
"Now, Adam," said Eve, "for the important business. You know we decided that Jack Ogilvie must have had a birthday, or he would not have got his commission. I have been making inquiries. He did; and I find that everybody can come next Saturday, probably,—a week from to-day."
Eve looked thoughtful and counted up on her fingers, which I released for the purpose—"the second of June. Do you think, Adam," she went on, "that clams will be ripe on the second of June?"
I laughed. "We can see. But many things will be lacking which belong to a clambake. Do you want me to issue a call to the Clam Beds Protective Company?"