"I'm going to stay with you. If you go to jail we might as well both go."
They turned sharp down the bank and Peduzzi stood, his coat blowing in the wind, gesturing at the river. It was brown and muddy. Off on the right there was a dump heap.
"Say it to me in Italian," said the young gentleman.
"Un' mezz' ora. Piu d' un' mezz' ora."
"He says it's at least a half hour more. Go on back, Tiny. You're cold in this wind anyway. It's a rotten day and we aren't going to have any fun, anyway."
"All right," she said, and climbed up the grassy bank.
Peduzzi was down at the river and did not notice her till she was almost out of sight over the crest. "Frau!" he shouted. "Frau! Fräulein! You're not going."
She went on over the crest of the hill.
"She's gone!" said Peduzzi. It shocked him.
He took off the rubber bands that held the rod segments together and commenced to joint up one of the rods.
"But you said it was half an hour further."
"Oh, yes. It is good half an hour down. It is good here, too."
"Really?"
