by Philip Wylie
that first night--when you sent me for Dr. Davis--you did not tell me to phone. You told me to get the keys and take the car. At that time, the Davis phone was working perfectly and the Davis car was running like a top. I subsequently thought of that. I decided that your agitation that evening was real--but that you had also decided that if I happened to rouse my quondam childhood playmate--and if she appeared in something sleazy and becoming--it would make a nice, running start for one of those summer flirtations that lead to so many new homes in suburbs."
"You're a rat," said Sarah, "and you're wrong."
"Knowing me," he continued, unmoved, "you might judge that I would pursue this maiden as a sort of irritant to you and your selection. Needless to say, I did no such thing."
"You slapped her," said Sarah. "You bawled her out and ordered her around. Love often takes preposterous forms like that." She looked at his face a moment and sighed.
"All right! I give up! I've always thought that of all the girls Indian Stones ever produced, Danielle Davis was the best suited to carry on and abet the Plum line. Brains, nerve, courage, refusal to abide by the conventions--good looks--everything a woman can have and needs--except a boss--"
Aggie's brows lifted thoughtfully and with sympathy.
"Danielle's very much impressed," he said, "with my executive capacity in human affairs. Not to say my resolution and general verve. She has a good education in biology.
She'd be a help keeping--my anthropological notes. I said I hadn't chased the woman. But the reverse is true. She came back from New York the other night entirely on my account."
Sarah's eyes were suspicious. "Don't kid me! Danielle orders her men around. She doesn't chase." Her mouth popped open again. "Aggie! Is that why you shaved off your beard? Did Danielle tell you to?"
He flushed. "Well, she hinted at it." He saw merriment welling up in her. He spoke severely. "Only, Sarah--and mark this well-- only after I had got her promise to marry me, bearded!"
Her mirth was being replaced by a new expression--an expression of amazement and joy--and Gargantuan sentiment.
Aggie fled.
When he reached the boathouse, he saw Danielle in a beach chair on the grass at some distance from the others and out of their line of view. She was lying back in the chair, relaxed, with her eyes closed. The sun molded her, in the relief of black shadows, and glittered on her red-gold hair, which had poured itself smoothly over the back of the chair. It began, at once, to pinken the tender skin where Aggie's beard had been. He put his hand to the spot and realized that the austere adornment would give him comfort and authority no longer. He frowned. Danielle opened her eyes and said lazily, "Come over here, idiot!"
Agamemnon Telemachus Plum surrendered unconditionally.
THE END
Document Outline
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18