Chuck

It was the late afternoon of August 14th.

Fran came back from the village in the convertible to find Arthur out on the lawn practicing with a putter.

She forgot to upbraid him for his running nose and swollen eyes because of the important-looking envelope in her hand.

A writer's wife gets to sense these things.

Open it up, she ordered.

The registered letter was from a movie company.

Hodges had been dickering with them on his latest serial for one of the big magazines.

The letter was good news.

They were offering to buy and at the kind of fabulous price that movies deal in.

Whoa, said Arthur, holding the open letter in one hand and clutching for his pocket handkerchief with the other.

He tried as always to appear unconcerned, but Fran threw her arms around his neck and gave him a big kiss.

"'You're wonderful, darling!'

she cried gaily.

He sighed, trying not to show how pleased he was with the news at her attentions.

"'At least this will pay for the air conditioner for another summer!'

Then Fran took him by the elbow and steered him inside.

You get back into the cave, she ordered him.

It was their pet name for their sanctified haven of pure, manufactured, pollen-free air.

The breeze died down, and with the wind gone, it grew very hot.

Fran prepared a cold supper and brought it into Arthur's den.