apartment now.”
Then she hasn’t been home at all, he thought. If she’d gone back she could probably have kept the apartment, by laying the landlord or selling her pictures. There ought to be a big demand for her pictures, he thought coldly.
“What are you going to do now?” Dorothy asked him the morning of the third day.
“Try to get out of the state, if I can make it. That is, if I can’t locate her.”
“When?”
“In another day or so. Why? You in a hurry for me to leave?” he asked suspiciously.
“No,” she said. “You can stay as long as you want.”
“I’ll pay you back for what you’ve spent,” he said angrily, “if the money’s bothering you.”
“I don’t care anything about the money.”
“You don’t care about anything, do you? I never thought I’d see the time I could be here three days and never even get to touch you.”
“I didn’t either,” she said, looking at the floor.
“What’s the matter with you, anyway?”
“I don’t know. Nothing seems to make any difference.”
It was hot in the apartment during the day, almost unbearably hot with the door and the windows closed. Restlessness had begun to ride him with its raking spurs almost from the time he had the handcuff off, and he would pace the floor of the small room in stocking feet, going on for hours. The thought of Joy began to be an obsession. When Dorothy brought in the morning paper on her way home from work he would snatch it away and read the news stories of the man hunt, looking for some mention of her. Then he would make her go out at noon and bring in the afternoon papers as soon as they were on the street. I can’t hang around here forever, he thought. I’ll go nuts. I’ve got to try to get out of the state, maybe to Florida or somewhere, and if I don’t find out pretty soon where she is I’ll have to go anyway.
The fifth day was torment. He could no longer sit still at all and there were moments when he felt that within a matter of hours he would go berserk and run out into the street to shoot it out with the first policeman he saw. Then he would get hold of himself and force himself to calm clown, knowing that when he did leave the apartment it was going to take all the cunning and cold self-control he possessed to get clear. He rarely spoke to Dorothy now. When she left at three-thirty to go to work he merely stopped his pacing for a moment to growl.
As Dorothy went out the doorway at the foot of the stairs she glanced at the mailboxes through habit, then stopped. There was a letter in hers. She opened the box and took it out, glancing at it curiously. She very seldom received any mail, and thought it might be only an advertising circular until she saw the handwriting.
She opened it. It was from Joy.
Dear Dorothy:
I hope you will forgive me for not writing to you for so long, but there has been so much trouble, as you have probably read about. I am staying with Sewell’s family on their farm up here and they have been so nice to me during this trying time. Mr. Neely is a charming old gentleman, you would love him, and Sewell’s brother Mitchell is the handsomest thing, you wouldn’t believe it, really. There is a young sister, too, who is the most adorable thing.
I would like to stay here longer, but I really ought to go back to work. So, Dorothy, I wonder, if you could spare it, would you lend me twenty dollars ($20.00) for bus fare and expenses so I could come down there and look for a job. The Neelys would just insist on giving it to me if I told them I was short of money, but they have done so much for me already I hate to ask them.
I wouldn’t ask anybody but you, for you have always been my best friend. Dorothy, I will pay you back out of my first pay check, of course. Hoping to hear from you soon,
Your loving friend,
Joy
Dorothy slid it back inside the envelope and started to go back up the stairs. I might as well show it to him, she thought wearily. He’s so anxious to
Then she hasn’t been home at all, he thought. If she’d gone back she could probably have kept the apartment, by laying the landlord or selling her pictures. There ought to be a big demand for her pictures, he thought coldly.
“What are you going to do now?” Dorothy asked him the morning of the third day.
“Try to get out of the state, if I can make it. That is, if I can’t locate her.”
“When?”
“In another day or so. Why? You in a hurry for me to leave?” he asked suspiciously.
“No,” she said. “You can stay as long as you want.”
“I’ll pay you back for what you’ve spent,” he said angrily, “if the money’s bothering you.”
“I don’t care anything about the money.”
“You don’t care about anything, do you? I never thought I’d see the time I could be here three days and never even get to touch you.”
“I didn’t either,” she said, looking at the floor.
“What’s the matter with you, anyway?”
“I don’t know. Nothing seems to make any difference.”
It was hot in the apartment during the day, almost unbearably hot with the door and the windows closed. Restlessness had begun to ride him with its raking spurs almost from the time he had the handcuff off, and he would pace the floor of the small room in stocking feet, going on for hours. The thought of Joy began to be an obsession. When Dorothy brought in the morning paper on her way home from work he would snatch it away and read the news stories of the man hunt, looking for some mention of her. Then he would make her go out at noon and bring in the afternoon papers as soon as they were on the street. I can’t hang around here forever, he thought. I’ll go nuts. I’ve got to try to get out of the state, maybe to Florida or somewhere, and if I don’t find out pretty soon where she is I’ll have to go anyway.
The fifth day was torment. He could no longer sit still at all and there were moments when he felt that within a matter of hours he would go berserk and run out into the street to shoot it out with the first policeman he saw. Then he would get hold of himself and force himself to calm clown, knowing that when he did leave the apartment it was going to take all the cunning and cold self-control he possessed to get clear. He rarely spoke to Dorothy now. When she left at three-thirty to go to work he merely stopped his pacing for a moment to growl.
As Dorothy went out the doorway at the foot of the stairs she glanced at the mailboxes through habit, then stopped. There was a letter in hers. She opened the box and took it out, glancing at it curiously. She very seldom received any mail, and thought it might be only an advertising circular until she saw the handwriting.
She opened it. It was from Joy.
Dear Dorothy:
I hope you will forgive me for not writing to you for so long, but there has been so much trouble, as you have probably read about. I am staying with Sewell’s family on their farm up here and they have been so nice to me during this trying time. Mr. Neely is a charming old gentleman, you would love him, and Sewell’s brother Mitchell is the handsomest thing, you wouldn’t believe it, really. There is a young sister, too, who is the most adorable thing.
I would like to stay here longer, but I really ought to go back to work. So, Dorothy, I wonder, if you could spare it, would you lend me twenty dollars ($20.00) for bus fare and expenses so I could come down there and look for a job. The Neelys would just insist on giving it to me if I told them I was short of money, but they have done so much for me already I hate to ask them.
I wouldn’t ask anybody but you, for you have always been my best friend. Dorothy, I will pay you back out of my first pay check, of course. Hoping to hear from you soon,
Your loving friend,
Joy
Dorothy slid it back inside the envelope and started to go back up the stairs. I might as well show it to him, she thought wearily. He’s so anxious to
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