"I'd been saving it for the bad weather," Bill said. "A log like that will bum all night."
"There'll be coals left to start the fire in the morning," Nick said.
"That's right," Bill agreed. They were conducting the conversation on a high plane.
"Let's have another drink," Nick said.
"I think there's another bottle open in the locker," Bill said.
He kneeled down in the corner in front of the locker and brought out a square-faced bottle.
"It's Scotch," he said.
"I'll get some more water," Nick said. He went out into the kitchen again. He filled the pitcher with the dipper dipping cold spring water from the pail. On his way back to the living room he passed a mirror in the dining room and looked in it. His face looked strange. He smiled at the face in the mirror and it grinned back at him. He winked at it and went on. It was not his face but it didn't make any difference.
Bill had poured out the drinks.
"That's an awfully big shot," Nick said.
"Not for us, Wemedge," Bill said.
"What'll we drink to?" Nick asked, holding up the glass.
"Let's drink to fishing," Bill said.
"All right," Nick said. "Gentlemen, I give you fishing."
"All fishing," Bill said. "Everywhere."
"Fishing," Nick said. "That's what we drink to."
"It's better than baseball," Bill said.
"There isn't any comparison," said Nick. "How did we ever get talking about baseball?"
"It was a mistake," Bill said. "Baseball is a game for louts."
They drank all that was in their glasses.
"Now let's drink to Chesterton."
"And Walpole," Nick interposed.
Nick poured out the liquor. Bill poured in the water. They looked at each other. They felt very fine.
"Gentlemen," Bill said, "I give you Chesterton and Walpole."
"Exactly, gentlemen," Nick said.
They drank. Bill filled up the glasses. They sat down in the big chairs in front of the fire.
"You were very wise, Wemedge," Bill said.
"What do you mean?" asked Nick.
"To bust off that Marge business," Bill said.
"I guess so," said Nick.
"It was the only thing to do. If you hadn't, by now you'd be back home working trying to get enough money to get married."
Nick said nothing.
"Once a man's married he's absolutely bitched," Bill went on. "He hasn't got anything more. Nothing. Not a damn thing. He's done for. You've seen the guys that get married."
Nick said nothing.
"You can tell them," Bill said. "They get this sort of fat married look. They're done for."
"Sure," said Nick.
"It was probably bad busting it off," Bill said. "But you always fall for somebody else and then it's all right. Fall for them but don't let them ruin you."
"Yes," said Nick.
"If you'd have married her you would have had to marry the whole family. Remember her mother and that guy she married."
Nick nodded.
"Imagine having them around the house all the time and going to Sunday dinners at their house, and having them over to dinner and her telling Marge all the time what to do and how to act."
Nick sat quiet.
"You came out of it damned well," Bill said. "Now she can marry somebody of her own sort and settle down and be happy. You can't mix oil and water and you can't mix that sort of thing any more than if I'd marry Ida that works for Strattons. She'd probably like it, too."
Nick said nothing. The liquor had all died out of him and left him alone. Bill wasn't there. He wasn't sitting in front of the fire or going fishing tomorrow with Bill and his dad or anything. He wasn't drunk. It was all gone. All he knew was that he had once had Marjorie and that he had lost her. She was gone and he had sent her away. That was all that mattered. He might never see her again. Probably he never would. It was all gone, finished.
"Let's have another drink," Nick said.
Bill poured it out. Nick splashed in a little water.
"If you'd gone on that way we wouldn't be here now," Bill said.
That was true. His original plan had been to go down home and get a job. Then he had planned to stay in Charlevoix all winter so he could be near Marge. Now he did not know what he was going to do.
"Probably we wouldn't even be going fishing tomorrow," Bill said. "You had the right dope, all right."
"I couldn't help it," Nick said.
"I know. That's the way it works out," Bill said.
"All of a sudden everything was over," Nick said. "I don't know why it was. I couldn't help it. Just like when the three-day blows come now and rip all the leaves off the trees."
"Well, it's over. That's the point," Bill said.
"It was my fault," Nick said.
"It doesn't make any difference whose fault it was," Bill said.
"No, I suppose not," Nick said.
The big thing was that Marjorie was gone and that probably he would never see her again. He had talked to her about how they would go to Italy together and the fun they would have. Places they would be together. It was all gone now.
"So long as it's over that's all that matters," Bill said. "I tell you, Wemedge, I was worried while it was going on. You played it right. I understand her mother is sore as hell. She told a lot of people you were engaged."
"We weren't engaged," Nick said.
"It was all around that you were."
"I can't help it," Nick said. "We weren't."
"Weren't you going to get married?" Bill asked.
"Yes. But we weren't engaged," Nick said.
"What's the difference?" Bill asked judicially.
"I don't know. There's a difference."
"I don't see it," said Bill.
"All right," said Nick. "Let's get drunk."
"All right," Bill said. "Let's get really drunk."
"Let's get drunk and then go swimming," Nick said.
He drank off his glass.
"I'm sorry as hell about her but what could I do?" he said. "You know what her mother was like!"
"She was terrible," Bill said.
"All of a sudden it was over," Nick said. "I oughtn't to talk about it."
"You aren't," Bill said. "I talked about it and now I'm through. We won't ever speak about it again. You don't want to think about it. You might get back into it again."
Nick had not thought about that. It had seemed so absolute. That was a thought. That made him feel better.
"Sure," he said. "There's always that danger."
He felt happy now. There was not anything that was irrevocable. He might go into town Saturday night. Today was Thursday.
"There's always a chance," he said.
"You'll have to watch yourself," Bill said.
"I'll watch myself," he said.
He felt happy. Nothing was finished. Nothing was ever lost. He would go into town on Saturday. He felt lighter, as he had felt before Bill started to talk about it. There was always a way out.
"Let's take the guns and go down to the point and look for your dad," Nick said.
"All right."
Bill took down the two shotguns from the rack on the wall. He opened a box of shells. Nick put on his Mackinaw coat and his shoes. His shoes were stiff from the drying. He was still quite drunk but his head was clear.
"How do you feel?" Nick asked.
"Swell. I've just got a good edge on." Bill was buttoning up his sweater.
"There's no use getting drunk."
"No. We ought to get outdoors."
They stepped out the door. The wind was blowing a gale.
"The birds will lie right down in the grass with this," Nick said.
They struck down toward the orchard.
"I saw a woodcock this morning," Bill said.
"Maybe we'll jump him," Nick said.
"You can't shoot in this wind," Bill said.
Outside now the Marge business was no longer so tragic. It was not even very important. The wind blew everything like that away.
"It's coming right off the big lake," Nick said.
Against the wind they heard the thud of a shotgun.
"That's dad," Bill said. "He's down in the swamp."
"Let's cut down that way," Nick said.
"Let's cut across the lower meadow and see if we jump anything," Bill said.