Evening Star Newspaper, September 6, 1931, Page 52

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, SEPTEMBER 6, 1931. She played her trout carefully, glad of the sport, the lonely pool and the quiet, gray day. Slowly she reached the fish within reach of David's nei, and at his “all right™ watched him as he unhooked it. - CARLOS CRAMER AVID stood on the shore and looked out over the little inland lake. A thin mist drifted lazily across the still water, sifted into the pines on the opposite shore and rolled away toward Copper Mountain. The slopes melted into the gray.blue expanse of more distant Lake Superior, and the entire picture secmed to blend into the bigness of a soft, gray day. y Other such days came back to his memory; days that made the woods worth while, and that he liked to see in retrospect on Winter evenings before a log fire. He drank in the scene and knew that somewhere out in the rolling mist he would find that which he had found before—friendly silence and supreme contentment. ‘The young man turned, and as he set about brightening the smoldering camp firé, he fre- quently eyed the tents of the camp that stood white and ghost-like against the background of pines. “My last day,” he muttered. “I'm going to have one more wha® at the trout.” With fishing in mind, David decided not to wait for others in the party, so he set about preparing his own breakfast, and soon two eggs were sputtering in a frying pan over the fire. “I'd like two, sunnyside up, please,” a mellow voice suddenly said behind him. AVID turned. Coming toward him from one of the tents was the girl who, the night before, had told him gently but firmly that she could not be his wife. ‘“You're up early,” he greeted her, adding two more eggs to the contents of the pan. “Isn't this a great day?” “I was wondering——" the girl replied medi- tatively, and then, as if interrupting a gloomy trend of thought, her gaze shifted from the shrouded lake to the upturned canoes huddled on the shore. “Those canoes look like living things asleep,” she said abruptly. “Yes,” agreed David, and his eyes once more sought the girl before him. He liked her sens- ible little felt hat, and the trim, belted jacket. He liked the rough skirt and high laced boots. He liked the way she stood with her hands in jacket pockets, straight and graceful, looking out into the new day. He knew she appreciated nature and the wild country as he did. That was just one of the reasons why he had opened his heart to her— but that was a closed chapter now, and it would remain closed so far as he was concerned. They sat down to breakfast at the long camp table, and as they ate, they watched the wisps of fog drift through the trees along the shore. “Want to go fishing with me?” ventured David, at last. “This is an ideal day to try our luck with the trout.” “You'd' forg:t about fishing and try to make Iave to> me,” she replied—and then she could A Perfect Story of a Perfect Way to End a Perfect Summer—MW hen Romance Is Ruled Out. have bitten her tongue off for uttering the words. Hadn't she spent a sleepless night, won- dering desp-rately whether she had wmade a mistake in refusing David? 11] PROMISE not to mention the subject,” he said. “We'll just be fishing pals, take our lunch and spend the day. The rest will never miss us; they’ll be too busy playing bridge or wondering why vacations go so rapidly.” “I shouldn't think you'd want to take me. Why do you?” “Becaus: you love the woods and water as much as I” replied David. ~ “Besides——" “Well—besides?” “It's my last chance to catch a trcut this Summer, and you're one girl who knows how to act in a cance.” “Well said, Sir David,” applauded Marion. “And for that I'll go with you.” She met him by the huddle of cances a few minutes later, took the paddle he handed her, and together they drove a canoe off into the mist. Marion paddled well—David had b:en her seacher—and as the canoe slipped silently along, the shore line fading behind them, he watched her rhythmic stroke—the steady pull, quick re- ccvery, her blade taking the water true and strong. She was a good woods companion; he had discovered that she knew and loved their influence as much as he, and all the plans he had made for many such future days together were now as misty as the day about him. As th:y neared the inlet, Maricn shipped her ° paddle and a moment later they grounded on the beach at the foot of the trout pool trail. 11|SN'T this a dreamy day,” asked Marion as David shouldered his pack. “It’s queer,” he replied, “how the woods get to a person sometimes. You seem to see things in a clearer light.” “I know,” agreed Marion, following him up the trail into the pines. Out on the lake there -had been space and sky to lure her thoughts to the enjoymsn’ of all she had felt in the open. But now, c¢n this trail through the closely-marshaled trees, the-shad- ows and narrow outlook confined her thoughts and they turned toward David trudging along befcre her. She had pondered her problem for three long months; she liked him better than any other man she had met, but she had not been sure that she loved him. She had asked him if they couldn’'t go on being good, understanding friends. Now she knew that she didn’t want to be just good friends, either. “We'd better make it a clean break when vacation ends,” David had said. “I'll just have to take my medicine.” And the girl knew he was taking a dose of it as he broke a trail for her through wet ferns and long grass; as he helped her over a fallen tree; as he swung down the hill frcm the woods into the burned timber by the pool. Suddenly he stopped and faced the girl. h“'lsn't this weird?” he asked, pointing about im. ROUND them the trees, blackened and scirred by a forest fire, stood twisted and still. Thers was no murmur from the few living branches. The mist, rising now, drifted thrcugh tkeir tops and a distant woodpecker rapped out a brisk tattoo. “What is it like?” Marion asked. it, but a comparison eludes me.” “It's like walking through a lot of lost mem- ories,” David replied quictly; “but——" “What?” “I'm getting too clcse to a forbidden sub- ject.” He pulled out his pipe. “Well—perhaps,” conceded the girl as her eompanion lighted the fragrant tobacco and trudged on. He did not pause again until they caught the glimmer of the trout pocl through the trees and came out at a little landing. “We’'ll set up our rods here,” he said. “And I think we’ll try the spring hole off the end of that fallen birch first.” “I certainly hope,” thought Marion as she connected her rcd, “that he won't become too interested in his fishing.” David was deep in his fiy book. However, Marion was a fisherwoman, and in spite of her moods, when she stepped into a nearby canoce and David pushed them out into the pool, she was thinking of the trout again. “I feel As they neared the hole she prepared to cast, and was calculating the distance when from behind her came David's voice, terse with excitement. ‘“Marion!” She turned quickly. “"Remember he strikes just once and that's all!” “Oh!” replied the girl faintly, and just then she didn’t carg whether she hooked a trout or not. The man might at least be interesting! Resolutely the girl returned to her fishing, and in a moment her spirits rose again. With her first cast she knew her wrist was right. Then, with lengthening line, she felt for her trout, the canoe answering her every move— David was certainly good at that—and she caught herself being glad they were alone. At last she dropped her fly on the spot from which she knew the flash would come. She knew the trout was hers almost before it struck; and then—she felt the canoe back away to a safe distance. David would never overrun her fish. A wild wish geized her to get the trout; if only to show him that she was the good sport he considered her. She said, “If you had uttered a word I would have jumped overboard.” 1llustrated by DOROTHY URFER . For an instant she feared the lily pads would entangle Ler line, but the girl played her trout carefully, glad of the spott, the lonely pool and the quiet, gray day. Slowly she worked the fish within reach of David's net, and at his “All right,” dropped her rod and watched him as he unhooked and held it up. “David,” she said, *if you had uttered a word, I would have jumped overboard.” “You didn't need any advice,” he replied. “That boy weighs a good 3 pounds.” “I'll paddle now,” offered Marion. “All right,” David agreed, and reached for his rod. AS she paddled slowly along the lily pads a feeling of peace stole over the girl. She watched David's slow, lazy casts; she followed the line curving gracefully into the backcast, and forward again, dropping into the gentle spread of which he was so proud. Finally, and without a word, she deftly netted his fish, glad to be the good comrade. And the day! Each soft light and tone sank into the others. David's gray flannel shirt blended into the spruces along the shore line, the gray-green slopes of old Copper melted into the sky; and about her was the silence of the little pool. Marion knew he was lost in the day and his thoughts—just as she was. Why had sh: 1efused David? Perhaps if he had told her he would wait—but his finality had made her undecided. She saw herself tramping and fishing with him, and somehow the picture stayed with her through the long morning. It brought her more contentment than she had known for many weeks. Why did David have to take her foolish re- mark of the morning so seriously? “Marion,” he said suddenly, causing her to turn in eag:r hope that somehow he had read her thoughts. “Let's go achore and eat our luneh.” The gir), seekirg to hide her disappointment, merely nodded and, as he reeled in his line, a loon, aggressively mournful, laughed from the opposite shore. After their luncheon, Marion leaned back against a tree trunk and idly watched the smoke from their little fire eddy and twist into the darkness of the woods. There was something in the quiet isolation of the spot and in the comradeship of David that brought to her, with a stabbing pain of self-reproach, all that she had lost by her refusal of the night before. She looked at him. His unseeing eyes were turned toward the pool. She wondered if he, toc, was thinking of the things that might have been. 11 THIS is what I had thought we would do often,” he said abruptly. “Do you know I was foolish enough to plan our honeymoon— a long canoe trip, days in the woods—and you.” Marion did not answer. “And,” continued David, “it turned out to Continued on Ninth Page