THE HOME FRONT
159
·age of Egyptian Prettiests which he never smoked after supper.
That night he had a strange dream. He dreamed of D-day. He
and little Greta Jost had come to wish Mr. Horvath good luck and
they had set out to find rooms. The hotels were crowded, for the holi–
day throngs were tremendous. They sauntered up the boardwalk, ad–
miring the bright tailored shingle where fashionable people were
gathered for the start of the regatta. They entered a hotel which was
quite deserted save for a man sitting alone on a little mezzanine at
one end of the lobby. He sat at a round amethyst-colored glass table,
drinking a very pink cocktail, :md as they approached, he stood up
smiling and cordially extending his hand. They recognized the Presi–
dent and they were gratified when he called them both by name. His
address was old-fashioned: he said "Miss Greta" and "Mr. Alfred."
Linking arms, the three of them went out. The President said that
while he wished the invasion to be as leisurely as possible, it would
be folly, would it not, to give the signal too late in ·the day? Did not
his
young friends agree that despite our great advances in electricity,
there was something essentially
better
about sunlight? Never was there
so civilized a man! In the pure, brilliant sky, exquisite airplanes circl–
ed and swooped like the loveliest of birds. There was such a profusion
of scarlet! In the flags, in the hats of the spectators, on the
wings
of
planes, in colossal bouquets in vases a mile high situated on the beach
at intervals of fifteen yards. The yachts were
all
ready, freshly paint–
ed, brightly bannered for the race to Europe.
Alfred and Greta were the first to land. As they walked up the
ramp, he noticed the tiny Scotch plaid ribbons that bound her pig–
tails. Wandering, they could not find the
Conditorei
he had suggested
although time and time again they set forth from the Heiliggeist
cathedral and took the familiar street. Nor was it possible, as former–
ly, to see the ruined castle from the bridge, and Greta said, "Herr
Pakheiser, I don't believe this is Heidelberg. Now I am afraid and
I want my mother. I think we have come to Heilbronn by mistake."
But Alfred pointed to the marking which clearly read, "Philosophen
Weg," and he soothed her, "Don't be frightened, dearest." They were
speeding in a dirty express train through Freiburg, its towers and
steeples flattened out like any corpse, its vineyards wasted with
drought and disease. The Alps diminished as they neared them. No
trees were left. The sun was small and red like an ember. Alfred, re–
ceiving a wicker-covered jug of wine from a weeping man who shared
their compartment, was too touched and too embarrassed to begin a
conversation, but at last he thought of
someth~ng.
"Sir," he said
solemnly, "Sir, did you ever go fishing in the Sound for bass, using
