you I got the inspiration. She pricked up her ears. Surprised, I guess, that I had a friend who cared anything about art. Now she wants to meet you. I said you were a busy man, but I'd call you and see if we could come to your place some evening. A queer girl, what? Anyway, this is your chance to fix things for me. Throw a lot of books around, will you? You know, the kind I never read. She's a school teacher, remember. Books mean something to her ... Well, what do you say? Aren't you happy? Say something!
I think it's marvelous. Watch out, or you'll be marrying again.
Nothing would make me happier. But I have to go easy. You can't rush her. Not her! It's like moving a stone wall.
Silence for a moment. Then—Are you there, Hen?
Sure, I'm listening.
I'd like to get a little dope from you before I see you ... before I bring Guelda, I mean. Just a few facts about painters and paintings. You know me, I never bothered to brush up on that stuff. For instance, Hen, what about Breughel—was he one of the very great? Seems to me I've seen his stuff before—in frame stores and book shops. That one you have, with the peasant ploughing the field ... he's up on a cliff, I seem to remember, and there's something falling from the sky ... a man maybe ... heading straight for the ocean. You know the one. What's it called?
The Flight of Icarus, I think.
Of whom?
Icarus. The guy who tried to fly to the sun but his wings melted, remember?
Sure, sure. So that's it? I think I'd better drop around some day and have another look at those pictures. You can wise me up. I don't want to look like a jackass when she starts talking art.
O.K., I said. Anytime. But remember, don't keep me long.
Before you hang up, Hen, give me the name of a book I could make her a present of. Something clean—and poetic. Can you think of one quick?
Yes, just the thing for her: Green Mansions. By W. H. Hudson. She'll love it.
You're sure?
Absolutely. Read it yourself first.
I'd like to, Hen, but I haven't the time. By the way, remember that book list you gave me ... about sewn years ago? Well, I've read three so far. You see what I mean.
You're hopeless, I replied.
One more thing, Hen. You know, vacation time is coming soon. I've got a notion to take her to Europe with me. That is, if I don't cross her up in the meantime. What do you think?
A wonderful idea. Make it a honeymoon trip.
It was MacGregor, I'll bet, said Mona.
Right. Now he's threatening to bring his Guelda some evening.
What a pest! Why don't you tell the landlady to say you're out next time there's a call?
Wouldn't do much good. He'd come around to find out if she were lying. He knows me. No, we're trapped.
She was getting ready to leave—an appointment with Pop. The novel was almost completed now. Pop still thought highly of it.
Pop's going to Miami soon for a brief vacation.
That's good.
I've been thinking, Val ... I've been thinking that maybe we could take a vacation too while he's away.
Like where? I said.
Oh, anywhere. Maybe to Montreal or Quebec.
It'll be freezing up there, won't it?
I don't know. Since we're going to France I thought you might like a taste of French life. Spring is almost here, it can't be so very cold there.
We said nothing more about the trip for a day or two. Meanwhile Mona had been investigating. She had all the dope on Quebec, which she thought I'd like better than Montreal. More French, she said. The small hotels weren't too expensive.
A few days later it was decided. She would take the train to Montreal and I would hitch hike. I would meet her at the railway station in Montreal.
It was strange to be on the road again. Spring had come but it was still cold. With money in my pocket I didn't worry about lifts. If it was no go I could always hop a bus or a train. So I stood there, on the highway outside Paterson N. J., determined to take the first car heading north, no matter if it went straight or zigzag.
It took almost an hour before I got the first lift. This advanced me about twenty miles. The next car advanced me fifty miles. The countryside looked cold and bleak. I was getting nothing but short hauls. However, I had oodles of time. Now and then I walked a stretch, to limber up. I had no luggage to speak of—tooth-brush, razor, change of linen. The cold crisp air was invigorating. It felt good to walk and let the cars pass by.
I soon got tired of walking. There was nothing to see but farms. Burial grounds, they looked like. I got to thinking of MacGregor and his Guelda. The name suited her, I thought. I wondered if he'd ever break her down. What a cheerless conquest!
