"Let's go."
"Not tonight."
"Why waste time?"
"You're tired. I'm tired. We're all tired, if you want to finish the
conjugation. Tonight we loaf and rest and get a full night's sleep.
Tomorrow we work. This is the royal edict."
"I vote yea," laughed Jane Nolan. "Come, ambitious one. On nine hours'
sleep in four days, you should be easy to handle."
Dave shrugged. DeLieb looked askance. "Jane, if you take him dancing,
we'll all kill you."
"You wouldn't have to," she said. "I'd be dead already. No, I'm taking
Dave out to the farm where he can see stars and breathe fresh air, and
loaf on long grass."
* * * * *
Jane's mother, forewarned, piled the dinner table high, and Dave was
fed to the bursting point. They walked under the stars, afterwards, and
then sprawled on the long grass, looking at the sky.
"You're quite a guy, Dave," said Jane.
"Probably the only one of my kind in existence," he said solemnly.
"Most men have eight eyes, you know. I've only got two."
"Blue, aren't they?"
"Brown," he corrected. "All two of them."
"They're blue."
"Brown."
"Dave, I'm a qualified observer and I recall them as blue!"
"Wishful thinking. Probably your first love had blue eyes."
Jane lit a match and held it over him for an instant. "Blue," she said.
"Are you going to believe your eyes or what I tell you?" he demanded.
"My eyes," she said. "Just because I happen to think you're quite
special, I don't necessarily believe everything you say."
"What's so special? I'm just an ordinary sort of guy. Most of the
things I learned in school haven't been much use to me. I drink too
much and smoke too much, go to church far too little--if at all--and
have no immediate hope for mankind."
"You're an idealist."
"No cigar. Cynic, yes. But idealist--?"
"You are," she said. "You are also some sort of human dynamo. You come
as a newspaperman to report on our doings and end up marching yourself
into danger and almost running the research group."
"Think of the story I'll be able to write," he said.
"And if you don't--?"
He laughed. "I'm in no danger," he said.
"I hope you aren't."
"Better me than someone who might be able to solve this thing."
"I don't think so."
"I'm no loss to civilization, Jane."
"That's your fault," she told him, half-angry. "You could be a great
asset if you'd only try."
"And what form of attempt does this require?"
"Stop playing cynic. We don't need people to tell civilization that it
has a dirty back yard or a few rotten beams in the cellar. What we need
is a few men with ideals to tell us how to clean up the yard and how to
bolster the rotten stringers. Set your sights on some goal, and then
settle down to work for it."
Dave groaned. "How do you start settling down after thirty-five years
of hell-raising?"
"Do you want to know?"
"I've often wanted to know."
"Get married, Dave."
"Who'd have me?"
"I would. Marry me, Dave."
"Lord, no!" he exploded.
"I expected a refusal," she said softly. "I didn't expect quite such a
vigorous rejection."
"I'm not rejecting you," he said earnestly. "You're a fine woman,
Jane."
"Who was she?" Jane asked.
"She? Who?"
"The girl that broke your heart."
Dave laughed. "I'm not carrying any torch," he told her. He leaned on
one elbow and looked down at her. The starlight was faint, but he could
see her well enough. "In fact, Jane, under other circumstances I might
get quite soft-headed about you."
"Then why not?"
He flopped back and stared at the sky. "Jane, you've accused me of
being brave. This is damned foolishness. I'm not brave. I've got about
six months to live, and I'm told the end will not be pleasant. I'd
prefer to go black in a hurry, doing something that couldn't be done by
a man with his life ahead of him. That isn't bravery; it's just cutting
clean the end of a well-frayed rope."
"Who says so?" demanded Jane.
"The famous Dr. Thomas Meteridge."
"He might be wrong."
Crandall chuckled. "He's seldom wrong. Fact is, Jane, I've to kick off
in six months, otherwise Old Doc Meteridge is a quack and a charlatan."
"He may be wrong."
Dave found her hand and held it over his side. "Feel warm? That's a
collection of fission products, tossing all sorts of junk around."
After a moment she said, "Some men wait for death complacently; some
spend their remaining time roistering; and Dave Crandall spends his
time doing dangerous jobs for humanity. Now tell me that you're not an
idealist, Dave."
"I--"
"Oh, stop arguing," she said. She still held the hand that had pressed
hers over his side. Now Jane caught it in a hard grip and pulled,
rolling him towards her. She met him halfway, missed his lips on the
first try, and then made contact as her free arm went around his
shoulders. Dave's was a startled response at first.
"Who's arguing?" he asked after a moment. He added his free arm to the
embrace and held her to him.
The stars above them whirled a quarter way across the sky--unnoticed.