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Updated: May 23, 2025
"He's not for K. D. B., that's flat," declared Blix; "the idea, 'matrimony if suitable' patronizing enough! I know just what kind of an old man B. P. T. is. I know he would want K. D. B. to warm his slippers, and would be fretful and grumpy. B. P. T., just an abbreviation of bumptious. No, he can't have her." Condy read the next two or three to himself, despite her protests.
She had even taken his arm. "They make a fine-looking couple, really," said Blix. "Where do you suppose they are going? To another restaurant?" But this was not the case.
But if the tears did start at times, no one ever saw them fall, and with a courage that was all her own Blix watched the last days of the year trooping past and the approach of the New Year that was to begin the new life. But Condy was thoroughly unhappy. Those wonderful three months were at an end. Blix was going. In less than a week now she would be gone. He would see the last of her. Then what?
Condy was literally dumb; in the end it was Blix who tided them over the crisis. "We were just going by just taking a walk," she explained, "and we thought we'd like to see the station. Is it all right? Can we look around?" "Why, of course," assented the Captain with great cordiality. "Come right in. This is visitors' day.
More than once in the fortnight following upon his resolution he had come up to the little flat on the Washington Street hill as to a place of refuge; and Blix, always pretending that it was all a huge joke and part of their good times, had brought out the cards and played with him.
Half an hour after leaving the lifeboat station, Condy and Blix reached the old, red-brick fort, deserted, abandoned, and rime-incrusted, at the entrance of the Golden Gate.
"Now," she said "now that the pastime of card-playing is over, we will return to the serious business of life, which is the catching no, 'KILLING' of lake trout." At five o'clock in the afternoon, Condy pulled up the anchor of railroad iron and rowed back to Richardson's. Blix had six trout to her credit, but Condy's ill-luck had been actually ludicrous.
Then, after a pause: "I played Monday night, after all, Blix, after promising I wouldn't." For a time she did not answer, and when she spoke, she spoke quietly: "Well I'm glad you told me"; and after a little she added, "Can't you stop, Condy?" "Why, yes yes, of course I oh, Blix, sometimes I don't know! You can't understand! How could a girl understand the power of it?
Condy saw again a brief vision of the street, and Blix upon the corner waiting to cross; then it was the gay, brisk confusion of the water-front, the old mate's cabin aboard the whaleback, Chinatown, and a loop of vermilion cloth over a gallery rail, the golden balcony, the glint of the Stevenson ship upon the green Plaza, Blix playing the banjo, the delightful and picturesque confusion of the deserted Chinese restaurant; Blix again, turning her head for him to fasten her veil, holding the ends with her white-kid fingers; Blix once more, walking at his side with her trim black skirt, her round little turban hat, her yellow hair, and her small dark, dancing eyes.
"Keep the line taut," whispered Condy, gritting his teeth. "When he comes toward you, reel him in; an' if he pulls too hard, give him his head." Blix was breathing fast, her cheeks blazing, her eyes all alight. "Oh," she gasped, "I'm so afraid I'll lose him! Oh, look at that!" she cried, as the trout darted straight for the bottom, bending the rod till the tip was submerged.
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