“Yes,” said George, “that’s the way it is in California.”
“Yes,” Nick said, “that’s the way it is everywhere I’ve ever been.”
“Yes,” said George, “that’s the way it is.”
The Swiss got up and paid and went out.
“I wish we were Swiss,” George said.
“They’ve all got goiter,” said Nick.
“I don’t believe it,” George said.
“Neither do I,” said Nick.
They laughed.
“Maybe we’ll never go skiing again, Nick,” George said.
“We’ve got to,” said Nick. “It isn’t worth while if you can’t.”
“We’ll go, all right,” George said.
“We’ve got to,” Nick agreed.
“I wish we could make a promise about it,” George said.
Nick stood up. He buckled his wind jacket tight. He leaned over George and picked up the two ski poles from against the wall. He stuck one of the ski poles into the floor.
“There isn’t any good in promising,” he said.
They opened the door and went out. It was very cold. The snow had crusted hard. The road ran up the hill into the pine trees.
They took down their skis from where they leaned against the wall in the inn. Nick put on his gloves. George was already started up the road, his skis on his shoulder. Now they would have the run home together.
