Over a steep incline he plunged, and paused.
"Thank God," he cried aloud, for there he saw a little round yellow glow
in the cloudy white mist,--the Harmer Six, and Connie.
He shouted as he ran, that she might not be left in suspense a moment
longer than need be. And Connie with numbed fingers tugged the curtains
loose and leaned out in the yellow mist to watch him as he came.
We talk of the mountain peaks of life. And poets sing of the snowy crest
of life crises, where we look like angels and speak like gods, where we
live on the summit of ages. This moment should have been a summit, yet
when Prince ran down the hill, breathless, exultant, and nearly
exhausted, Connie, her face showing peaked and white in the yellow glare,
cried, "Hello, Prince, I knew you'd make it."
She held out a half-frozen hand and he took it in his.
"Car's busted," she said laconically. "Won't budge. I drained the water
out of the radiator."
"All right, we'll have to hoof it," he said cheerfully.
He relieved her of the heavier wraps, and they set out silently through
the snow, Prince still holding her hand.
"I am awfully glad to see you," she said once, in a polite little voice.
He smiled down upon her. "I am kind o' glad to see you, too, Connie.
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