It was clear, swift, deep in some places and shallow in others, with white wreathes or ripples around the rocks evidently placed there as a means to cross.

Carley drew back aghast.
"Glenn, I could never make it," she called.
"Come on, my Alpine climber," he taunted.

"Will you let Arizona daunt you ?" "Do you want me to fall in and catch cold ?" she cried, desperately.
"Carley, big women might even cross the bad places of modern life on stepping stones of their dead selves!" he went on, with something of mockery.

"Surely a few physical steps are not beyond you." "Say, are you mangling Tennyson or just kidding me ?" she demanded slangily.
"My love, Flo could cross here with her eyes shut." That thrust spurred Carley to action.

His words were jest, yet they held a hint of earnest.