Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/110



ONCE AGAIN, GAYLORD STROLLED into his schoolroom, this time five minutes early. Last night with Blake a feeling of guilt, sweet guilt, had come over him, but this morning on entering the long hall no feeling of fatigue or depression had engulfed him. He had walked with the springy, confident stride of a youth who was sure, not only that the universe was his, but also that at last he had a definite place in it. There was no doubt whether or not he had the stamina to cope with shrewd, wise-cracking boys like Stud or Pete … he had almost wished to meet them.

His teacher, a somewhat practical and perceptive woman, received him cordially. "Good morning, Gaylord." She closed the book she held.

With the same brightness as the large pin between her flat breasts, Gaylord answered, "Good morning, Miss Grey."

She glanced at her watch and wrinkles criss-crossed her face. "You're a little early this morning."

She had a strained look as though she had been in too many chalk-filled rooms. The pin blazed like cat eyes in the dark, but her smile was natural, untouched by artifice. It made Gaylord think of friends and good people, and the scent of bluebonnets blooming in short grass.

"Am I the first one here?" He noted the vacant room.

"You surely are," she answered, glancing at her watch again. They had a few pleasant words before the door to the hall opened and the new student, wearing creased trousers and a tie over a starched shirt, came, by degrees, in Gaylord's direction. Serenity was 100