Worcester Democrat and the ledger-enterprise. (Pocomoke City, Md.) 1921-1953, 1940-05-24
CHAPTER IL

lifted her easily and carried her into
the room they shared She fell
asleep held close and hard in Brent's
arms, her last, drowsy thought in
tent only on him and on the lasting
reality of their love.
It was very early when she wax
ened. Dawn was but family grey be-
yond the windows and the sound that
had aroused her was insistent in her
ears. The drone of plane, flying
low, flying directly over Abigairs
small house. March pulled the covers
high about her ears, but the throbbing
sound persisted. Griff Morgan was
leaving. But he had flown out of his
way to tell her goodbye. To remind
her that he hadn't forgotten. To
promise he'd be back.
y
Brent said cheerfully, "I'll only be
a minute, honey, if you want to wait
out here"
Vivid and lovely in gypsy-striped
linen against the warm, worn cush-
ions of Abigails ancient car, March
nodded lazy acquiescence, and watch
ed Brent cross the sidewalk to the
drug store in three long strides, a
tall, rangy figure with casual sort
of grace, clad in khaki shirt and
breeches tucked in high, laced boots.
III Tor
thought, as the screen door slapped
smartly shut behind him. 1t opened
almost Immediately to emit two wo-
men and man.
March classified them unerringly as
summer people. Kenoqua was noisy
and alive with summer people. The
colorful panorama that was Main ST.,
in July stretched all about. March
leaned forward, bare brown arms rest
ing on the door of the car, the better
to drink in the glowing transforma-
ton. People in twos and threes and
gay, laughing groups, strolling up and
down, pausing in the shade of avn
ings to window-shop with a tongue
in-cheek air of condescension. Tanned,
urban people. Girls with bright bare
heads, with vivid bandannas tied peas
ant fashion under their chins, with
lipstick in crimson slashes across
brown faces. Women in Stacks, slim
youngsters in shorts, crisp, smart lin
ems everywhere. Men in white, i'm
maculate, well-tailored white or white
that had grow soiled and wrinkled
with wear. Great cars with drivers
sitting bored and immobile at their
wheels. Opulent roadsters, tops down,
horns shrieking.
This was Kenoqua, this was any
one of a hundred other Wisconsin
towns, in the season. That all too
brief season that lasts from late June
to id-September, during which the
population of the town and it's out
lying resorts and private summer
homes increases from a few hundred
to several thousand. That season
when in few short weeks, the towns
inhabitapts must earn enough money
to last them through the rest of the
year. For resorting is their business.
It means bread and butter and shoes
and a roof over their heads. In the
old days they Iearned livelihood at
logging. Now the forests are denud-
ed of their virgin growth, they re-
sound no more with the drone of saws
and the crash of axes. But the
streams and lakes are myriad and
lovely and the fishing excellent. So
the sons and grandsons of the log
gers of old rent cottages to summer
people, they put them up comfortably
at lodges and hotels, they feed them
and amuse them, having lured them
from their city haunts with glowing
advertisements. Fish hatcheries are
maintained so that the fishing won't
deteriorate with the constant influx
of fishermen. Golf courses have been
laid out and places of amusement e.
rected to the end that every visitor
may find diversion to suit his par
tlcular taste.
March's attention was caught mo-
mentarily by the striped marquee that
sheltered the entrance of the Casino,
a city nightclub in every detail ex-
cept the comparatively minor one of
location. Then her gaze skipped on
down the street past the three cocktail
lounges that always aroused Abigail's
contempt, past several restaurants
and sporting goods store, to come to
rest finally on the utterly unprepos-
sessing entrance to Sandy's place.
March had never entered that dingi-
ly curtained doorway, which may have
accounted for her lively curiousity