"Nice fish," he said, looking at Dwight's catch. "Get him on the fly?"

The American shook his head. "On the spinner. We're trying with the fly now. Did you do any good last night?"

"I got five," the man said. "Biggest about six pounds. I got sleepy about three in the morning and turned it in. Only just got out of bed. You won't do much good with fly, not in this water." He produced a plastic box and poked about in it with his forefinger. "Look, try this."

He gave them a tiny fly spoon, a little bit of plated metal about the size of a sixpence ornamented with one hook. "Try that in the pool where the quick water runs out. They should come for that, on a day like this."

They thanked him, and Dwight tied it on the cast for her. At first she could not get it out; it felt like a ton of lead on the end of her rod and fell in the water at her feet. Presently she got the knack of it, and managed to put it into the fast water at the head of the pool. On the fifth or sixth successful cast there was a sudden pluck at the line, the rod bent, and the reel sang as the line ran out. She gasped. "I believe I've got one, Dwight."

"Sure, you've got one," he said. "Keep the rod upright, honey. Move down a bit this way." The fish broke surface in a leap. "Nice fish," he said. "Keep a tight line, but let him run if he really wants to go. Take it easy, and he's all yours."

Five minutes later she got the exhausted fish in to the bank at her feet, and he netted it for her. He killed it with a quick blow on a stone, and they admired her catch. "Pound and a half," he said. "Maybe a little bigger." He extracted the little spoon carefully from its mouth. "Now catch another one."

"It's not so big as yours," she said, but she was bursting with pride.

"The next one will be. Have another go at it." But it was close to lunchtime, and she decided to wait till the afternoon. They walked back to the hotel proudly carrying their spoils and had a glass of beer before lunch, talking over their catch with the other anglers.

They went out again in the middle of the afternoon to the same stretch of river and again she caught a fish, a two-pounder this time, while Dwight caught two smaller fish, one of which he put back. Towards evening they rested before going back to the hotel, pleasantly tired and content with the day's work, the fish laid out beside them. They sat against a boulder by the river, enjoying the last of the sunlight before it sank behind the hill, smoking cigarettes. It was growing chilly, but they were reluctant to leave the murmur of the river.

A sudden thought struck her. "Dwight," she said. "That motor race must be over by this time."

He stared at her. "Holy smoke! I meant to listen to it on the radio. I forgot all about it."

"So did I," she said. There was a pause, and then she said, "I wish we'd listened. I'm feeling a bit selfish."

"We couldn't have done anything, honey."

"I know. But-I don't know. I do hope John's all right."

"The news comes on at seven," he said. "We could listen then."

"I'd like to know," she said. She looked around her at the calm, rippling water, the long shadows, the golden evening light. "This is such a lovely place," she said. "Can you believe-really believe-that we shan't see it again?"

"I'm going home," he said quietly. "This is a grand country, and I've liked it here. But it's not my country, and now I'm going back to my own place, to my own folks. I like it in Australia well enough, but all the same I'm glad to be going home at last, home to Connecticut." He turned to her. "I shan't see this again, because I'm going home."

"Will you tell Sharon about me?" she asked.

"Sure," he said. "Maybe she knows already."

She stared down at the pebbles at her feet. "What will you tell her?"

"Lots of things," he said quietly. "I'll tell her that you turned what might have been a bad time for me into a good time. I'll tell her that you did that although you knew, right from the start, that there was nothing in it for you. I'll tell her it's because of you I've come back to her like I used to be, and not a drunken bum. I'll tell her that you've made it easy for me to stay faithful to her, and what it's cost you."

She got up from the stone. "Let's go back to the hotel," she said. "You'll be lucky if she believes a quarter of all that."

He got up with her. "I don't think so," he said. "I think she'll believe it all, because it's true."

They walked back to the hotel carrying their fish. When they had cleaned up they met again in the hotel bar for a drink before tea; they ate quickly in order to be back at the radio before the news. It came on presently, mostly concerned with sport; as they sat tense the announcer said,

The Australian Grand Prix was run today at Tooradin and was won by Mr. John Osborne, driving a Ferrari. The second place…

The girl exclaimed, "Oh Dwight, he did it!" They sat forward to listen.

The race was marred by the large number of accidents and casualties. Of the eighteen starters only three finished the race of eighty laps, six of the drivers being killed outright in accidents and many more removed to hospital with more or less severe injuries. The winner, Mr. John Osborne, drove cautiously for the first half of the race and at the fortieth lap was three laps behind the leading car, driven by Mr. Sam Bailey. Shortly afterwards Mr. Bailey crashed at the corner known as The Slide, and from that point onwards the Ferrari put on speed. At the sixtieth lap the Ferrari was in the lead, the field by that time being reduced to five cars, and thereafter Mr. Osborne was never seriously challenged. On the sixty-fifth lap he put up a record for course, lapping at 97.83 miles an hour, a remarkable achievement for this circuit. Thereafter Mr. Osborne reduced speed in response to signals from his pit, and finished the race at an average speed of 89.61 miles an hour. Mr. Osborne is an official of the C.S.I.R.O.; he has no connection with the motor industry and races as an amateur.

Later they stood on the verandah of the hotel for a few minutes before bed, looking out at the black line of the hills, the starry night. "I'm glad John got what he wanted," the girl said. "I mean, he wanted it so much. It must kind of round things off for him."

The American beside her nodded. "I'd say things are rounding off for all of us right now."

"I know. There's not much time. Dwight, I think I'd like to go home tomorrow. We've had a lovely day up here and caught some fish. But there's so much to do, and now so little time to do it in."

"Sure, honey," he said. "I was thinking that myself. You glad we came, though?"

She nodded. "I've been very happy, Dwight, all day. I don't know why-not just catching fish. I feel like John must feel-as if I've won a victory over something. But I don't know what."

He smiled. "Don't try and analyze it," he said. "Just take it, and be thankful. I've been happy, too. But I'd agree with you, we should get home tomorrow. Things will be happening down there."

"Bad things?" she asked.

He nodded in the darkness by her side. "I didn't want to spoil the trip for you," he said. "But John Osborne told me yesterday before we came away they got several cases of this radiation sickness in Melbourne, as of Thursday night. I'd say there'd be a good many more by now."