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"We could live here," she thought; "the Captain's income would keep us just anyway we wanted to live." But a vision of her own beautiful house under the shadow of the great peak came back to reproach her. Her horses and dogs awaited her. This tumultuous island was only a place to visit, after all. "Do you suppose this goes on every night?" she said to Haney, as they turned off Broadway.
Before, he'd had Mike at communications and the Chief at the steering rockets while Haney kept the pushpots balanced for thrust. Now Joe flew the manned ship alone. Headphones and a mike gave him communications with the Shed direct, and the pushpots were balanced in groups, which cost efficiency but helped on control.
Braun was very decently laid out in a lead-lined box, with a lead-glass window over his face. There was no sign of any injury on him except from his fight with Haney. The radiation burns were deep, but they'd left no marks of their own. He'd died before outer symptoms could occur. Joe signed the identification certificate. He went to be checked for his own chances of life.
He determined to enter for the roping contest and for the cowboy race and the revolver practice. Marshal Haney was delighted. "I'll attend to the business, but the entrance fees will be about twenty dollars." This staggered Mose.
Happily the bell soon relieved the strain, but the talk at the table continued to be very personal it could not be prevented, for each of these four people was at a turning-point in his or her life. Haney, feeling the slow tide of returning vigor in his limbs, was in trouble thinking of what he was to do.
Haney, ghastly pale, in limp dejection, almost in collapse, was seated in an easy-chair, with Lucius holding a glass to his lips. He was stripped to his undershirt and looked like a defeated, gray old gladiator, fallen helpless in the arena, deserted by all the world save his one faithful servant and Bertha's heart was wrenched with a deep pang of pity and remorse as she gazed at him.
For the first time in many years his heart was filled with a sense of the beauty of the world. Bertie looked older and graver when Haney entered the Eagle Hotel, and his heart expanded with a tenderness that was partly paternal. She seemed so young and looked so pale and troubled. She greeted him unsmilingly and calmly handed him the pen with which to register.
"I don't suppose we're likely to need bread of a sort, but I don't feel able to buy or rent and keep house or I didn't till Haney made this offer." "How did he come to make it?" His fair skin flushed at her question, for he couldn't quite bring himself to tell the whole truth. He knew the decision came from Bertha, and at the moment, and for the first time, he saw how it might be misconstrued.
Her joy of the big outside Eastern world had begun to pass, and she dreaded to encounter again the bold eyes and coarse compliments of the men who loaf about the hotels and clubs. She turned to Haney as he came into her room, and said: "Mart, I want to go home to-day." "All right, Bertie, I'm ready or will be, as soon as I pick up the old father.
"And thanks." A brittle voice sounded somewhere around Haney's knees. Joe looked down, startled. The midget he'd seen up on the Platform nodded up at him. He'd squirmed through the press in Haney's wake. He seemed to bristle a little out of pure habit. Joe made room for him. "I'm okay," said the midget pugnaciously. Haney made a formal introduction. "Mike Scandia." He thumbed at Joe. "Joe Kenmore.
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