A Five-Minute Story
THE FOURTH
DIMENSION
By CHARLES FORD
RIPLEY sang aloud in pure joy as the bladelike bow of his racing canoe slipped through the water. The wind was northwest and puffy, and the lake showed a lively blue and white under the sky. As he came about, over to windward he could see the green of the golf links slanting up from the water's edge and the white clubhouse gleaming through the trees; overhead the white and tinted clouds sailed before the wind, hardly dimming the sunshine. It was a pretty picture from the water, and he loved it. As the wind heeled the canoe over, his muscular legs shot him up to windward and the lively craft swished through the water, every puff wetting the sails half-way to their peaks and showering him with spray. Golf and tennis were good; but nothing wiped out the worries of a difficult and precarious business as did the little canoe. It needed skill, muscle and quick wits—a man's play.
Starting his sheets a bit, he stood out into the lake and hauled her into the wind again. Then a vicious blast came down the hill, the slide jammed and he went over.
A ducking was the least of his troubles; he was used to it. But this time something went wrong. His head struck a spar; and when at last he found himself swimming easily toward the boathouse that showed its gay awnings in a little cove below the clubhouse, he thought he must have been unconscious for a minute or two. Pulling himself up on the float, he turned, but could see nothing of the capsized canoe.
"I'll send Jimmy out for it," he said to himself, and went into the locker room for a rub-down. It struck him as rather singular that when he went out, float and boathouse and locker room had been gay with many-colored canoes, and girls in summer dresses, and men talking over golf scores and exchanging alibis and experiences. Now everything was quiet but for a few men he didn't know talking soberly in the locker room.
"Well, that ducking took Miller off my mind for a while, anyhow. Queer that crack on my skull didn't raise a lump," he mused, rubbing his head cautiously.
Jimmy did not appear by the time Ripley had changed, and he took out his clubs and strolled up the slope to the first tee. He felt a little tired and dazed, and it might be amusing to watch them drive off. Perhaps he would feel like playing a few holes if some acquaintance showed up about the time Miller began pestering him again. But it wasn't the Miller business that puzzled him now. The tee was the same, railing and water-can and sand-box were just where they belonged. The narrowing vista of the first fairway with the green and its tiny flag perched up on a knoll four hundred yards away were as usual.
