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 FLAMING

YOUTH

297

“How are you feeling?” “All right.” This was his invariable formula. “Don’t lie to me!”

She closed the door, lowered the

window, and turned upon him. SOW

“Jimmie!”

el] 2?

“Swear !?? “All right. I swear. What’s the secret?” “Not that kind of swear. Cuss. Rip it out. Blast the ceiling off the roof. Let yourself go.” He peered into her face. It was solemn, intent. “I don’t know what ” he began. Then he broke off and let himself go.

Such virulent, vitriolic, blazing, throbbing

profanity Pat had never dreamt of. It comprehended the known universe and covered the history of the cosmos, past, present, and future. When he had finished and lay back exhausted, she enquired: “Feel better, don’t you?” “Yes. How did you know?” “I saw you a few minutes ago when your eyes were holding in. But you couldn’t help—there was ” She touched her own eyelids, “You’re a liar, Pat!” exploded the correct and punctilious T. Jameson James. “That’s right. Go to it if you haven’t got it all out,” approved Pat. “No; I’m through.

Lord, that did me good!”

“Cussing to yourself is no good. You’ve got to have somebody to listen. Ever let anyone hear you really loosen up before?’ “No. Wve always been too—too”—he grinned—hell-

ish dignified.” “Well, you send for me when you need an audience.” From that time a bond of special sympathy and fellowship was established between the life so disastrously