“Oh, I bet nothing happened at all. Nothing ever happens there. You always think it will, but it doesn’t. Something else will turn up pretty soon that they’ll be talking about instead of Phil.” “They’re talking about _us_ now,” said Teddy, in a tone of deep satisfaction. There was silence again. Then Blake hit the ground with his fist. “I feel so _great_,” he said. “We all do,” said Teddy quietly. To Blake, still in that queer state where everything was crystal clear, it came suddenly that he would never forget any of this moment; the orange-glowing fire or the two pastel-shadowed figures sitting beside it. Teddy’s profile, with turned-up nose and ruffled hair, was lowered to the branch he held in his hand, poking the ashes at his feet. He would always remember that, and the smell of burning cedar. Gin sighed. “If it starts raining again tonight I’ll go to sleep sitting right up in the car. I felt lousy last night.” “Oh, it won’t rain tonight,” Blake promised easily. “The sky is clear.” It was his trip and he felt responsible for nature. The fire burned down to a useful small smouldering size while the night crept up around them. “It’s queer how easy it is not to worry out here,” Gin said. “I used to worry all the time about everything, and now nothing seems to be very important.” “I know,” said Teddy. “You? You never bothered your head about anything,” she said resentfully. “Money or anything. I used to be so jealous that I could have choked you sometimes.” “What do you know about it? I did too worry. I didn’t say anything about it, that’s all.” Blake listened carefully to this strange talk, and now he felt impelled to break in. “I don’t understand either of you. Why should you have worried about anything? You’re grown up. If I ever get to be twenty-one, there won’t be another thing in my life that I can’t manage. Just to think that no one will be able to tell me what to do, after that! You don’t know when you’re well off.” “Oh, yeah?” Gin pushed a charred log farther into the fire. “Well, wait until you get there and you’ll see how easy it is.” “People waste too much time. Always talking about little things that don’t make any difference anyway, and fussing around with people they don’t like very much. They ought to stop doing what they don’t want to do, if it doesn’t make any difference to anyone. They ought to go and do what they really want.” “What do _you_ want to do?” asked Gin. “What things really do matter? You act as if there were something else to _do_.” “I don’t know. It depends on who you are. Teddy really wants to paint; it really matters to him. What do you really want to do?” “I don’t know. I want to have a good time in Mexico, that’s all, and it looks as if I’ll get it.” She patted Blake’s hand and smiled at him.