Page:Levenson - Butterfly Man.djvu/60



AS the motor-bus rolled into the San Bernardino valley, Ken rejoiced. Clear cool morning air swept down from the mountain wall dry and free. The warm tonic sun revealed faraway vistas, firs and pines cresting above the ever-changing skyline, long deep green citrus groves, sand seas upon which hardy grape shoots lay in long lines to the desert horizon. Soon midmorning, it would be hot enough for laziness; if he could be successful, he would have the leisure to enjoy these Southland days. If he could be successful, if he could earn enough, he would ride and swim and dance until, exhausted, he would laze in the languorous sun.

Anita sat curled up beside him, in the wide leather seat. She had yielded to his insistence that they take the early bus to San Bernardino. She had been up most of the night and would have preferred to sleep until ten. Ken regretted now his selfish impulsiveness. She had done so much for him; she had steadied him, given him self-confidence and an understanding of the comradeship and self-denial which is the casual gift of every member of the theatrical fraternity. She was, in Ken's mind, a great pal. Gazing at her now as she lay cuddled up and dozing, he was reminded of the many long hours and profitless days she had shared with him. When he met her, she was sailing ahead, serenely contented with her lot, lonely perhaps, but certainly a victor in the struggle to defeat her own weaknesses. Then