"'Frisby,' said I, 'use them all--paste the whole collection over your
dog and yourself--then walk off the cliff.'

"He sullenly unfolded a green poster, swabbed the boiler with paste,
laid the upper section of the bill upon it, and plastered the whole
bill down with a thwack of his brush. As I walked away I heard him
muttering.

"Next day Daisy was so horrified that I promised to give Frisby an
ultimatum. I found him with Freda, gazing sentimentally at his work,
and I sent him back to the shop in a hurry, telling Freda at the same
time that she could spend her leisure in providing Mr. Frisby with
sand, soap, and a scrubbing-brush. Then I walked on to my post of
observation.

"I watched until sunset. Daisy came with her father to hear my report,
but there was nothing to tell, and we three walked slowly back to the
house.

"In the evenings the professor worked on his volumes, the click of his
type-writer sounding faintly behind his closed door. Daisy and I
played chess sometimes; sometimes we played hearts. I don't remember
that we ever finished a game of either--we talked too much.

"Our discussions covered every topic of interest: we argued upon
politics; we skimmed over literature and music; we settled
international differences; we spoke vaguely of human brotherhood. I
say we slighted no subject of interest--I am wrong; we never spoke of
love.

"Now, love is a matter of interest to ten people out of ten. Why it
was that it did not appear to interest us is as interesting a question
as love itself. We were young, alert, enthusiastic, inquiring. We
eagerly absorbed theories concerning any curious phenomena in nature,
as intellectual cocktails to stimulate discussion. And yet we did not
discuss love. I do not say that we avoided it. No; the subject was
too completely ignored for even that. And yet we found it very
difficult to pass an hour separated. The professor noticed this, and
laughed at us. We were not even embarrassed.

"Sunday passed in pious contemplation of the ocean. Daisy read a
little in her prayer-book, and the professor threw a cloth over his
type-writer and strolled up and down the sands. He may have been lost
in devout abstraction; he may have been looking for footprints. As for
me, my mind was very serene, and I was more than happy. Daisy read to
me a little for my soul's sake, and the professor came up and said
something cheerful. He also examined the magazine of my Winchester.

"That night