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coats, and after the marriage service you and Lisa and I would go to hunt the finest fox you ever saw, Tom! What do you say! Is Lisa there? Put her on!" A pause. "Lisa? Lisa, you sound great! Lisa, talk to that bastard! No arguments! I'll expect you here day after tomorrow for the Waterford Hunt! Tell Tom I won't accept the charges if he calls back. God love you, Lisa. So long." John hung up.
    He looked at me with a chimpanzee smile of immense satisfaction.
    "By God now! What have I done? Did you hear that? Will you help out, kid?"
    "What about Moby Dick, John?"
    "Oh, hell, the Whale will survive. God, I can just see the parish priest's eyebrows burning. I can hear the rouse in the pubs when they hearl"
    "I can watch myself cutting my throat in the bathtub." Ricki headed for the door. It was always the horses to be ridden or tubs soaked in up to her mouth at a time like this, which was usually twice a week, living with a power unit like John. "So long, lousy husband. Goodbye, cruel world."
    The door slammed.
    Not waiting to hear the fierce douse of water above in the giant bathroom, John grabbed my knee.
    "God almighty, it'll be a time!" he cried. "Ever seen a hunt wedding?"
    "Afraid not."
    "Christ, it's beautiful! Damn! Beyond belief!"
    I looked at the door through which Ricki had gone.
    "Will Tom and Lisa come, just like that!"
    "They're both sports."
    "Am I supposed to interpret that as positive assurance we'll see them this week?"
    "We'll go to Shannon and drive them here, won't we, kid?"
    "I thought I was supposed to rewrite the solid-gold-doubloon-on-the-mast scene, John."
    "Oh, hell, we both need a few days off. Ricki!"
    Ricki reappeared in the door, her face the color of snow and lilacs. She had been waiting for the call she knew would come.
    "Ricki," said John, beaming at her as on one of his children. "Goddamn, listen—here's the planl"
    Tom and Lisa got off the plane fighting. They fought inside the door of the plane. They fought coming out the door. They yelled at each other on the top step. They shouted coming down the steps.
    John and I just looked up, aghast. I was glad Ricki was off somewhere, shopping until suppertime.
    "Tom!" cried John. "Lisa!"
    Halfway down the steps, Lisa turned and ran back up, raving. She was going back to the States now I The pilot, on his way out, told her there was a rather slender chance of this, for the plane was not going back immediately. Why not? she demanded. By this time Tom had bounded back up to her side, yelling at the pilot that he should indeed turn the damn ship round and fly this madwoman back, he would pay double, triple, and if he could manage to crash on the way, fine.
    John, listening, sat down on the steps of the unloading platform, shut his eyes, shook his head, and bellowed with laughter.
    Hearing this, Tom came to the rail above and looked down sharply. "Jesus Christ, John!"
    John went up and hugged and kissed Lisa a lot, which did it. We finally saw them through customs, packed them into the Jaguar, and tooled across the vast green pool table of Ireland.
    "Beautiful! Beautiful!" cried Lisa, as the hills rushed by.
    "What weatherl" said Tom.
    "Don't let it fool you," John announced. "Looks lovely, but it rains twelve days out of ten. You'll soon be at the whiskey, like me!"
    "Is that possible?" Tom laughed, and I laughed with him, looking over. What I saw was what I had seen for years around Hollywood, a man lean as whipcord and leather; hard riding, tennis every day, swimming, yachting, and mountain climbing had fined him down to this. Tom was fifty-three, with a thick shock of iron-gray hair. His face was unlined, deeply tanned, his jaw was beautifully sharp, his teeth were all there and white, his nose was a hawk's nose, exquisitely prowed in any wind anywhere in the world. His eyes were blue, water bright and intensely burning. The fire in him was a young man's fire, and it would never go out: he would never let it go out himself, and there was no man with