The Waterbury Democrat., 1938-12-15

crystal morning was the answer ne would give.
 He turned toward her now, almost roughly. They had reached the mountain top. It was above timber line; they could look down on a layer of whipped-cream clouds, nestling low over the dark forest; the long clean sweep of deep powder snow. This was a world apart, be- longing just to them.
 You know you shouldn't ask me that" Dan said. His tone was rough, too, almost angry.
 "Why not?" Sally said. Her look held his.
 Because you know do. like you too much, Sally Blair. More than I've any right to, more than I should"
 If her heart had hammered hard before, now its beating was almost suffocating, dizzy, throb- bing song of joy. For this was Sally's moment, her hour of tri- umph. He liked her - more than he should. He felt toward her as she did toward him. AS she had, as she knew now, from that first time when she had stopped to see him poised, high above her head, to watch the incredibly swift grace of his fight, to know that she must find out who he was, what he was, somehow get to know him.
 What if I give you the right?" Sally asked. Time was so fleet ing, this lovely moment would break to drift away like the clouds below. Everything had to come to an end, as she had said to Corey only last night. Though it was not of Corey she thought now.
 You couldn't" Dan answered, still gruffly. You don't know what you're saying. It might seem right - here and now - but, as l told you, I can't allow myself to have time for girls like you. I don't dare believe in you, Sally Blair"
 Then you are a coward!" Sally returned. The high color famed in her cheeks; her dark eyes wore their dangerous look. She had of fered him her heart - she, Sally Blair, Queen of the carnival, most popular girl of them all. She had offered him her heart, and he had refused it. He had taken her mo- ment of triumph, the song in her heart, and broken it between his ct ho oY.J ho1aIc
 You think you're so fine and brave" Sally said. Because you are king on skis. But you're coward at heart, Dan Reynolds. You're afraid of your own self, of the real things in the world. l knew that - from the first. I told the others. Corey and all the gang. only bothered with you, let you teach me what already knew about skiing, to show you up, put you in your place, have the last laugh. It was all in fun on a dare"
 You mean that?" Dan took a step toward her, caught her two wrists in his strong clasp. His gray eyes were black with fury; the high spots of color stood out on his smoothly tanned skin.
 "Of course, I mean it!" Sally cried. Because she didn't, at all. Because she did not know what had made her say such things, now that they were no longer true. Because her heart was crying out. Because she loved him - and hated him - at the same time. q never meant anything so much before. I'll prove it to you if you like"
 She wrenched away from him, swung on her skis, headed for the edge of the sheer drop. The steep down trail, winding ribbon be- heath them.
 She heard Dan call out a warn ing, the whir of his skis. But Sal- ly had taken the schuss - skis close, body, nearly erect, hands at her sides. Perfect form and grace and skill. Perfect landing, too, on the smooth firm surface hundred feet below. Wind humming in her ears, flashing against her face, the white world skimming past like lantern-like run off at top speed. Thirty-five or 40 miles an hour, with the wind urging here on. Now she would pass the Cau- tion sign of the Intermediate run.