'They'll think of something,' I said.
'Graff, they said you don't have much money.'
'So you don't want to marry me, Gallen?'
'Graff! They really mean to get you.'
'Come and sit, Gallen,' I said. 'I really mean to get you too.'
But she sat on Siggy's bed; it was so soft and had such a sag in it that her knees were tipped face-up to me - lovely little chin-sized knees.
'Stop blushing, Gallen.'
'What are you doing in bed like that ?' she said.
'I was reading.'
'I'll bet you've nothing on,' she said. 'Underneath the covers, I'll bet you sleep without a stitch.'
'Does it drive you wild to guess?' I asked.
'They're going to get you, Graff,' she said. 'I just saw your light, so I knew you were up. I thought you'd be dressed.'
'Well, I'm hidden,' I said. 'Come sit on my bed.'
'Graff - the mayor and my aunt, they're cooking something up.'
'Well, what?' I said.
'They've looked through your stuff, you know. They saw what your money was like.'
'I've enough to pay for this room,' I said.
'And there's not much left after that, Graff. They can arrest you for not having money.'
'I'm a loiterer,' I said. 'I always knew someone would find it out.'
'And you helped him get away, Graff. They can get you for that.'
'I can't wait to see what they'll do,' I told her.
'They're going to make you get a job,' she said.
Well, that was something, all right - a frotting job. Of course, I could just scram, make off for the mountains and fish, and tell Gallen where Siggy could find me when he came back looking; leave the money with her for the Gasthof bill.
Now I thought that, but Gallen had her eyes on me - and that one lovely line making the fine, sharp jut to her jaw, putting the slope off her shoulder that ran long to her wrist and the angle her hand made; her fingers were as sensitive as a Braille reader's, I was sure; and her dark lip-color, the rust blush-color on her cheek, and her pale, high-freckled forehead. She went as well together as the different ripe and sun-spots of a peach.
So I said, 'What kind of a job?'
'Just a little job,' she said. 'Just another way to have someone keeping an eye on you so they'll know when he's coming back.'
'So they think he'll be back?'
'I think so too,' she said. 'Will he be back, Graff?'
'Are you a Judas, Gallen?'
'Oh, Graff,' she said. 'I'm just warning you what they're thinking they'll do.' And she made her braid hide her face from me. 'And I've got to know when you'll be leaving. I want to know where you're going so I can write you. And I want you to keep writing that you'll come back.'