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That he knew and understood everything was clear to them, but they did not and would not have believed that he had, for a minute, hated Terabon as standing between him and happiness. "What are we going to do?"
The waves rolled and fell back, sometimes the wind seeming the stronger and then the current asserting its weight. With the wind's help over the stern, Terabon swiftly passed the caving bend and landed in the lee above the young woman's boat. He carried some things he had bought for her into the kitchen and they sat in the cabin to read newspapers and magazines which he had obtained.
Terabon ran his hand around the man's head and neck, found the lump near the base of the skull, found that the neck wasn't broken, and made sure that the heart was beating things a reporter naturally learns to do in police-station and hospital experience. Jet brought the motorboat down to the stern of the cabin-boat, and the four carried Carline on board.
She felt deserted, as though she had need of Terabon to give her a view of his own life, that she might be diverted into something not sordid, and decidedly not according to Augustus Carline's ideals! After a time, seeing that Carline's boat had disappeared down river, she threw over her anchor, and rested in the eddy.
"It's passing noon, and I think I'll get something to eat," Terabon suggested; "I'll get up my " "I forgot to eat!" Carline said. "I've got everything, and that knob there is a three-burner oil stove. We'll eat on board. Never mind your stuff, I've got so much it'll spoil but I ain't much of a cook!" "I'm the original cook the Cæsars wanted to buy for gold!" Terabon boasted.
Impression had been made upon impression, so that when she had found herself nearing the place of her dreams, she was in the mood to enter into its wildest and gayest activities; she had expected to, and she had known in her own mind that when she met Terabon she would be irresistible. At last she shuddered.
The man pulled away swiftly and disappeared down the chute. Carline explained: "He's a whiskey pedlar; a man always needs to have whiskey on board; malaria is bad down here, and a fellow might catch cold. You see how it is if a man don't have some whiskey on board." "I understand," Terabon admitted.
"So do I. Those books," he waved his hand toward the loaded shelves, "she gave them all to me for my mission boat!" Terabon stared. He went to the shelves and looked at the volumes. No. 87 A jealous pang seized him, in spite of his reportorial knowledge that jealousy is vanity for a literary person. "I 'low we mout 's well drop out," Rasba suggested. "Missy Crele's down below some'rs.
When she glanced up at Terabon, she looked away again, quickly, flushing. She was lost now. That was her feeling. Her defiance and her courage seemed to have utterly left her, and in those bitter days of cold wind and clammy rain, sleet and discomfort had changed the outlook of everything.
The jug was on the floor, and Terabon, after a little thought, poured out about two and a half quarts which he replaced with distilled water from the motorboat's drinking bottle. Then he dropped down the chute into the main river to resume his search for really interesting "histories." The river had never been more glorious than that morning. The sun shone from a white, misty sky.
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