Page:Levenson - Butterfly Man.djvu/51

Rh path down the palisade were rocks. She picked her way to a natural opening in the black cliff. The surf splashed and rolled between the beach stones on which they walked. In the darkness, they found a comfortable natural seat, a low, flat rock.

"I've been most everywhere, kid," she said. "I thought I had you figured but I'm wrong."

She lighted a cigarette.

"What's this Lowell guy like?"

"He's wonderfully generous. But I can't figure him the way you can't figure me."

"So he's the one that's made you so shy. Tell me—you're not 'queer,' are you?"

Ken's "No" was gruff and decisive.

"Then put your arm around me, I'm chilly."

He obeyed.

"Haven't you got a drink with you?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"Then I'll have to get warm some other way."

Her head fell on his shoulder. Her hair was fragrant with a musky scent, as the wind drove it in a caress against his cheek. His hand dropped over her shoulder, so that his fingers barely felt the curve of her breast.

"I'm glad I found you," she said. "I know what's ailing you. You need a woman around once in a while. A goofy old gent like this papa of yours means no good to you."

"How do you know?"

"Mama's wise, little man. She's lived. And she hasn't been in Buddy Nolan's school for four hard weeks without guessing right once in a while."

Ken's eyes followed the long line of foam.