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Show 26, Jeffries, Islamorada [Section 4] And Rowena Emmerling, what if she heard 'aww-breey. , --some Oberon stalking her in the twilight forest, or a weak moment in a haystack. . . The Old-Timer started awake. "There was. . .a story I was going to tell you. . ." Dorian Clayton went to stand where the wooden slats of the window were throwing off the heat. There was a view out across the canal, a patch of the blue sea, and he saw how it must have been eighty-eight years back, with that first homemade cargo sloop, the old Island Home out there passing to the new settlement at Miami, freeboard low with a load of tomatoes and pineapples, quality. There was motion and a blur of color far up the palm bole, up into the hardwoods. Some birds were gathering. There was that orange oriole, the spotted oriole, and a Bahama star warbler, and a red cardinal, in love. Dory moved to an opposite window and took the view across Lindsey Alley, and what he hoped would come there. In the heat a long, somnulent minute passed and there came a graceful dun-colored move up to the telephone wire. "The archivist!" "Huh-" the Old-Timer nodded awake, "did you call me. . . '• |