"Oh, that's all right, then. We're going to do the west. It'll be
wonderful having you----"
"Me!"
"Nothing. Let's go on with the list. M-m-m--where were we? Oh, yes. Now
trout flies. Which do you honestly think best for mountain trout? The
Silver Doctor or the Gray Hackle or the Yellow Professor? U'm?"
Inspiration comes to us at such times. It could have been nothing less
that prompted him to say, "Well--doesn't that depend a lot on the
weather and the depth of the--ahem!--water?"
"Yes, of course. How silly of me. We'll take a lot of all kinds, and
then we'll be safe."
He breathed again and smiled. He had a winning smile, Florian. Jessie
Heath smiled in return and they stood there, the two of them, lips
parted, eyes holding eyes.
"My God!" said the man who boasted he knew the Rockies like the palm of
his own hand, "it looks as if he'd landed her, the stiff."
Certainly it looked as if he had. For next morning old Heath, red-faced,
genial-looking (and not so genial as he looked) approached the head of
the fifth floor and said, "How long you been with us, Sykes?"
"Well, I came here as errand boy at thirteen. That's
ten--twelve--fifteen--just about sixteen years next June. Yes, sir."
"How'd Jessie--how'd my daughter get the idea you were from the West,
and a regular mountain goat, and a peak-climber and all that?"
He did look a little uncomfortable then, but it was too late for
withdrawal. "I am from the West, you know."
"Have you had any long vacations since you've been with us?"
"No, sir. You see, in the summer, of course--our busy season. I never
can get away then. So I've taken my two weeks in the fall."
Old Heath's eyes narrowed musingly. "Well, you couldn't have done all
this mountain climbing before you were thirteen. And Jessie says----" He
paused, rather blankly. "You say you do know the Rockies, though, eh?"