"All right then, if tha really want to know what I think,—
"Of course."
The Surveyors have been at this since Noon. Squire Haligast predicts an end to the general Incarceration by tomorrow. Ev'ryone not yet reel'd away into Madness prays that it be so, for no one here can bear much more Company.
"Without meaning offense, then...? 'tis against Nature."
"What! to mourn my Wife?"
"Not to be seeking another...?"
For a moment Mason inspects his Co-Adjutor's Shins,— then his eyes shift away, and grow unfocus'd. "Were we in Gloucester, I should expect, naturally, to hear such useful advice as this. 'Tis the expected thing. Simple country Procedure. Alas, I may have stopt in London for too long, breathing its mephitic airs, abiding too close to its Evil unsleeping. I know I have been corrupted,— but perhaps it has un-mann'd me as well."
"You're just not getting out enough... ?"
"Out! Out where?" Gesturing at the Window, "White Mineral Desola?tion, unvarying and chill,—
"Out of your Melancholy."
Try as he may, Mason can detect in this nought but kind Intent. "I only hope you're not suggesting anyone in our immediate Company,— I mean, you haven't been,— that is, what am I saying, of course you've...," his eyes happening to fall upon Dixon's Stomach, whose size and curvature seem different to him, somehow (the Figure of it indeed changing, one day to the next, the rest of us watching in some alarm its Transition from a Spheroid vertically dispos'd, to one more wide than high). "Ah. "Pis some?one in the Kitchen. Am I right?"
"Either that or I'm pregnant,'" holding his Corporation and gazing down at it. "If so, 'twould be by Maureen, for I've been true to no other,— she being the one you'll recall who bakes—
"— the Pies," Mason is joyous to enumerate, "the Tarts, the, the Jam-stuff'd Dough-nuts, the lengthy Menu of French Cremes and Mousses, the Fruit-Cakes soak'd in Brandy be it Feast-day or no,—
"Stop...?" cries Dixon, "tha're making me hungry."
"Ahrrh...," warns Mason.
"Sure you wouldn't like to just pop back to the Bake-house, take a chance that she's in, find one or two of those iced Waffles, aye she or her friend Pegeen, happen you've seen her, the Red-head with the Curls...? Wears green all the time...?"
"There it is. Damme! you persist.—  Whenever I begin to imagine we're past this.—  One or two malicious Jokes, that's fine, I'm a good Sport,— but pray you, grant me a Respite, no Pegeens."
"Perhaps I'm only trying to get thee to eat something. This self-denying has its limits,— tha're down to skin and bones with it, 'tis an Affliction Sentimental, in which Melancholy hath depress'd thy Appetite for any Pleasure."
"Hold,— you're sitting there like Henry the Eighth, advising me upon Dietary matters? Regard yourself, Sir,— how are we to do accurate work in the Field, with you subtending so many Degrees of it, even at the Horizon?— What is this Spheroid you bear," tapping Dixon's Belly, "or rather lug about, like some Atlas who doesn't plan to bring the Globe all that far?"
" 'Tis prolate, still," with a long dejected Geordie 0. "Isn't it... ?"
"I'm an Astronomer,— trust me, 'tis gone well to oblate. Thanks for your concern at the altitude of my spirits,— but what you're really seek?ing, is an Accomplice in the pursuit of your own various fitful Vices.”
So, by the time the Snow abates enough to allow them to rejoin the Har-lands, the Surveyors, having decided thereafter to Journey separately, one north and one south, to see the country, return to the Harlands the use of their Honeymoon Quilt, and kindly allow John Harland to toss one of his new silver Shilling Pieces, which lands Heads, sending Mason North and Dixon South. Next time, they agree to reverse the Directions.
"Happen I'll find someplace warm at last," Dixon a bit too cheerfully.
"See here, I hope we'll go ahead with it,— I mean, it's been like a Booth-load of Puppets swinging Clubs all about, hasn't it."
"Ah know, Ah'm as unquiet as thee,— why aye, we must spread out, the one thing we knoaah of this Place, is, that Dimension Abounds...?"
("Dixon was first to leave," the Revd relates, "and with no indication in the Field-Book of where he went or stopp'd, let us assume that he went first to Annapolis,—
"How 'assume'?" objects Ives. "There are no Documents, Wicks? Per?haps he stay'd on at Harland's and drove all of them south, with his drunken intriguing after ev'ry eligible,— meaning ev'ry,— Milkmaid in the Forks of Brandy-wine."
"Or let us postulate two Dixons, then, one in an unmoving Stupor throughout,— the other, for Simplicity, assum'd to've ridden,— as Mason would the next year,— out to Nelson's Ferry over Susquehanna, and after crossing, perhaps,— tho' not necessarily,— on to York,— tak?ing then the Baltimore Road south, instead of the one to Frederick, as Mason would,— south, to Baltimore, and thro' it, ever southing, toward Annapolis, and Virginia beyond. Tho' with suspicions as to his Calvert Connections already high, Dixon might have avoided Maryland alto?gether, instead of tempting Fate.")
He comes into Annapolis by way of the Rolling-roads, intended less for the Publick than for the Hogsheads of Tobacco being roll'd in to Mar?ket from distant Plantations, night and day, with two or three men to each Hogshead,— African Slaves, Irish Transportees, German Redemption-ers and such, who understand well enough that others might also prefer to travel this way. In Town, Dixon roams unfocus'd from Waggoners' Tav-
 erns to harbor-front Sailors' Dens,— "Only looking for that Card-game," he replies if ask'd, and if they say, "What Card-game?" he beams ever-so-sorry and retreats from the Area, feigning confusion about ev'rything save the way out, for one Tavern is as likely as another to provide oppor?tunities for Mischief.
He has certainly, and more than once, too, dreamt himself upon a dark Mission whose details he can never quite remember, feeling in the grip of Forces no one will tell him of, serving Interests invisible. He wakes more indignant than afraid. Hasn't he been doing what he contracted to do,— nothing more? Yet, happen this is exactly what they wanted,— and his Sin is not to've refus'd the Work from the outset.—
When they later re-convene at Harlands', Mason gets around to inquiring of Dixon, what was his Purpose, in entering Maryland.
"Bait. Make myself available. Like Friend Franklin, out in the Thunder-Gusts... ?"
"You wish'd to be...stricken? assaulted?"
"I'm content with 'Approach'd'...? Yet no French Agents, nor Jesuits in Disguise, have announc'd themselves,...nor have Freemasons cryptickally sign'd to me— Yet I suppose my own Surveillor might be secreted anywhere in our Party, among our Axmen, Cooks, or Followers, noting ev'rything."
In Williamsburg at last, Dixon feels he has come to the Heart of the Storm. There can be no more profit in going any further South,— this will have to do for whatever he may learn.
The Tobacco Plantations lie inert, all last season's crop being well transported to Glasgow by now, and the Seeds of the next not yet in Flats— Whilst the Young, who seem to be at ev'ry hand, take their Joy of Assemblies and River-Parties, Balls and Weddings,— other............