seat, though quite close to the door of her own side. “Well, I wouldn’t mind for a little,” she said, still beaming. “It’s such a nice day for a drive.” And they were off.
At the wheel, Ralph Edwards, as though responding to the surge of power beneath his feet and hands, put away his show of humility almost at once. “I had to come get a book,” he said, explaining. “I left it at the Dispensary yesterday,” and, proving it, he nodded, with a rather heavy nonchalance toward the great mouse-gray text-book that lay on the seat between them, then picked it up and put it on the floor under the seat. “An exam this afternoon,” he went on, “in Bio-chem.”
As they turned out into the Boulevard, picking up speed, the wind settled in wide sweeping drafts over the front glass of the convertible and broke fiercely across their faces through the lowered side-windows. It was apparent that Babs’ hair was going to suffer terribly, and she held it with both hands.
“Oh, this is awful,” she cried.
Ralph slowed the car a little. “Move more this way,” he said, nearly sounding casual.
Babs gave him a significant dark glance, one to suggest exasperation, and began to roll up her window. “This makes more sense,” she said firmly, then settled down to look fixedly out that side of the car.
For a moment Ralph concentrated on his driving; then after glancing once or twice at Babs, he began to hum, being blasé, drumming his finger-tips over the top of the steering-wheel. He switched on the radio, found a popular dance-tune program, “The Make-Believe Ballroom,” and raised his humming in confidence. “Like dancing?” he asked the girl, careful not to take his eyes off the road.
“Me?” answered Babs with a laugh that was at once careless and surprised. “Love it!” she said authoritatively, and she began to hum along with the music herself, looking straight ahead.
Ralph Edwards turned his eyes full on her, taking it all in entirely. He started to speak, but when his voice caught he laughed embarrassedly and reached at his shirt-pocket for a cigarette.
“Smoke?” he asked, proffering the pack, but in having kept his eyes on the girl for too long, and now in proffering the cigarettes, he allowed the car to drift onto the shoulder of the road, and had to swerve it awkwardly to avoid the mound of a stone-marker.
Meanwhile, Babs, pretending not to notice, replied over all the noise and bumping. “I don’t smoke, thank you.”
“You don’t smoke?” asked Ralph, trying to salvage that advantage, as though nothing had happened. “Really?” He forced a tired smile, to suggest that she was perhaps too virtuous for him; Babs, however, was still so absorbed in not noticing, that she failed to catch even his words.
“ And, you don’t talk much either, do you?” the boy hurried on, pursuing it. “Now why is that?” He gave her his tooth-paste smile, but Babs continued to hum, not looking his way at all.
They stopped for a light then, at a quiet intersection where the signal seemed interminably red.
“Say, do you know this guy Eichner?” Ralph asked suddenly in his schoolboy voice. With the motor idling, he sounded much louder than before.
Babs gave a start and looked anxiously about outside. “Who, Fred ? Why, how do you mean?”
On the corner nearest the car, where a boy was knelt to one knee in untying a bundle of afternoon papers, the cloth bag, color of orange sherbet with worn black markings lay furled in the sun at his feet.
Ralph laughed, a bit jerkily. “ Fred? Sure, old Doc Fred Eichner! Sure, they’ve got him down before the Grand Jury. My uncle was telling me about it. He was in a big car-wreck the other day.”
Babs was sitting up straight, toward the edge of her seat. “ Today? Oh, why didn’t they tell me?” she demanded, and continued practically unheard. “Fred. Oh, I’ve got to be . . . Where is it?” she implored then of the boy.
“Well, at the Court House, I
At the wheel, Ralph Edwards, as though responding to the surge of power beneath his feet and hands, put away his show of humility almost at once. “I had to come get a book,” he said, explaining. “I left it at the Dispensary yesterday,” and, proving it, he nodded, with a rather heavy nonchalance toward the great mouse-gray text-book that lay on the seat between them, then picked it up and put it on the floor under the seat. “An exam this afternoon,” he went on, “in Bio-chem.”
As they turned out into the Boulevard, picking up speed, the wind settled in wide sweeping drafts over the front glass of the convertible and broke fiercely across their faces through the lowered side-windows. It was apparent that Babs’ hair was going to suffer terribly, and she held it with both hands.
“Oh, this is awful,” she cried.
Ralph slowed the car a little. “Move more this way,” he said, nearly sounding casual.
Babs gave him a significant dark glance, one to suggest exasperation, and began to roll up her window. “This makes more sense,” she said firmly, then settled down to look fixedly out that side of the car.
For a moment Ralph concentrated on his driving; then after glancing once or twice at Babs, he began to hum, being blasé, drumming his finger-tips over the top of the steering-wheel. He switched on the radio, found a popular dance-tune program, “The Make-Believe Ballroom,” and raised his humming in confidence. “Like dancing?” he asked the girl, careful not to take his eyes off the road.
“Me?” answered Babs with a laugh that was at once careless and surprised. “Love it!” she said authoritatively, and she began to hum along with the music herself, looking straight ahead.
Ralph Edwards turned his eyes full on her, taking it all in entirely. He started to speak, but when his voice caught he laughed embarrassedly and reached at his shirt-pocket for a cigarette.
“Smoke?” he asked, proffering the pack, but in having kept his eyes on the girl for too long, and now in proffering the cigarettes, he allowed the car to drift onto the shoulder of the road, and had to swerve it awkwardly to avoid the mound of a stone-marker.
Meanwhile, Babs, pretending not to notice, replied over all the noise and bumping. “I don’t smoke, thank you.”
“You don’t smoke?” asked Ralph, trying to salvage that advantage, as though nothing had happened. “Really?” He forced a tired smile, to suggest that she was perhaps too virtuous for him; Babs, however, was still so absorbed in not noticing, that she failed to catch even his words.
“ And, you don’t talk much either, do you?” the boy hurried on, pursuing it. “Now why is that?” He gave her his tooth-paste smile, but Babs continued to hum, not looking his way at all.
They stopped for a light then, at a quiet intersection where the signal seemed interminably red.
“Say, do you know this guy Eichner?” Ralph asked suddenly in his schoolboy voice. With the motor idling, he sounded much louder than before.
Babs gave a start and looked anxiously about outside. “Who, Fred ? Why, how do you mean?”
On the corner nearest the car, where a boy was knelt to one knee in untying a bundle of afternoon papers, the cloth bag, color of orange sherbet with worn black markings lay furled in the sun at his feet.
Ralph laughed, a bit jerkily. “ Fred? Sure, old Doc Fred Eichner! Sure, they’ve got him down before the Grand Jury. My uncle was telling me about it. He was in a big car-wreck the other day.”
Babs was sitting up straight, toward the edge of her seat. “ Today? Oh, why didn’t they tell me?” she demanded, and continued practically unheard. “Fred. Oh, I’ve got to be . . . Where is it?” she implored then of the boy.
“Well, at the Court House, I
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