“Well yes, I used to. I did quite a long canoe trip once, in Canada.”
“Oh, tell me about it!”
No one since he had left Zenith had shown so comforting an interest in him. He was not looking away from her now; he was swallowed by her expanding, flattering eyes as he labored:
“Well, it was nothing especial. Went with a friend of mine. We made about a thousand miles, with sixty-four portages, and the last five days we lived on tea, without sugar or condensed milk, and fish, and our tent got burnt up, and we slept under the canoe when it rained. Yes, that was good going. Hm! Like to do it again.”
“Why don’t you? Why don’t you? I can imagine you wonderful in that wilderness.”
“Oh, Fran—Mrs. Dodsworth—she doesn’t care much for that kind of hiking.”
“Hiking? Hiking?”
“Oh, you know.” He made a vast circular gesture. “Going. Traveling.”
“Oh yes. And she does not like it? Oh, I would!”
“Would you? I’ll have to take you camping!”
“Oh, you must!” She seized his sleeve, excitedly shook it. “Don’t make a joke! Do it!”
And he was certain that he could—and more certain that between Fran and Kurt, so innocently looking at pictures in their corner, was being woven a spiderweb of affection. He felt helpless, he felt irritated, and that irritation submerged his rising fascination in Minna von Escher. No! He wasn’t going to encourage Fran by giving her an example!
For a moment, while Minna was sputtering an account of her own courage and ingenuity on a North Sea voyage, Sam checked his suspicions. But he saw Fran blush at some remark of Kurt too low to overhear, saw her glance joined to his, and suddenly Sam was angry.
He grumbled at Minna, “Yes, must have been a mighty nice trip—never done much yachting, myself—say, my Lord, it’s getting late!”
He poured across the room: “Fran! Know what time it is? It’s almost one!”
“Yes? What of it?”
“Well. … Pretty late. We were going out to see Brandenburg tomorrow.”
“We don’t have to go tomorrow! Good Heavens! We’re not on a Cook’s tour!”
“Well … Kurt has to be on the job.”
“Oh no‑o!” begged Kurt. “It does not matter. I shall be so unhappy if you run away early!”
“Of course if you insist—” said Fran.
She sounded vicious. Kurt looked at them miserably, as though he was wondering what he could do to reconcile them.
“No, no! Just didn’t want you to tire yourself out. And here’s Mrs. Escher pretty near asleep,” Sam crowed jovially. And everybody laughed, and everybody looked relieved, and everybody said that Yes, wasn’t it much more fun to be together, just the Family, after the others had gone.
But Sam had poisoned their moment. They looked self-conscious, and talked about music. Minna von Escher, not at all pleased by Sam’s coyness, made yawning signs of going home, and the party broke up in fifteen minutes, with effusive announcements of what a good time they had had.
And so, in the taxicab, when they had dropped Minna at a residence which was confoundedly out of their way, Sam and Fran again started the battle.
XXIV
After Fran had cried, “Good night—such a happy evening—auf Wiedersehen!” to Minna von Escher, she was silent for a minute, and it was a minute of sixty-thousand seconds, each weighted with fury, like the minute of suspense before a thundershower, in a meadow land where the grass turns poison-green with fear. Sam waited, trying to think of something to think.
She spoke in the manner of a schoolteacher who has endured too much but who is still trying to keep her temper:
“Sam, Heaven knows I don’t ask much of you in the way of social graces. But I do think I have a right to ask you not to be so selfish that you spoil not only all my pleasure but that of everybody else! I really don’t see why you should always and unfailingly demand that everybody do what you want!”
“I didn’t—”
“We were all perfectly happy, sitting there and talking so cheerfully. And I didn’t notice that you were being so neglected—certainly that dog-faced Von Escher woman was flattering you and your pioneer hardihood sickeningly enough, and you simply lapping it up! And it wasn’t even very late—I don’t suppose you’ll ever learn that Berlin and Paris are not exactly like Zenith, and that sometimes people do manage to keep awake here after ten o’clock! Count Obersdorf was telling me all about his family, and it was frightfully interesting, and suddenly you feel sleepy and—bang! The great Samuel Dodsworth is sleepy! The great industrial leader wants to go home! Everything must break up immediately! Nobody else must be considered! The great I Am has spoken!”
“Fran! I’m not going to lose my temper and let you enjoy a row tonight. … At least I hope not!”
“Go on! Lose it! It wouldn’t be such a novel and shocking sensation! I’m quite used to it!”
“You are like hell! You’ve never seen me lose it properly! The last fellow that did—Well, I paid the hospital bills!”
“Oh, the wonderful great hero that can knock people’s heads off! That has all the charming virtues of a drunken lumberjack! That—”
“This is a little beside the point, Fran. I wasn’t boasting—I was regretting. Listen, darling; now that you’ve blown off steam, can’t you be reasonable a little while?”
Thus they reached the Adlon, bowed to the doorman as though they were in the best of humor, crossed the marble lobby, a fine, substantial, dignified couple, went serenely up in the elevator, and fell to it again:
“Fran, we’ve got to come down to cases. We’ve been drifting, without any plans, and I wanted to talk plans. … Maybe you were right about tonight. I didn’t mean to sound grouchy when I suggested going home, and if I did, I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter. As a matter
