Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/167

 had been lifted. A parked car by the curb in front of the house meant nothing to him as he walked absentmindedly from the garage around the side and to the front of the house. A whistle, like a boy would make to a passing pretty girl, stopped him from going up the porch steps. He recognized both, the whistle and then the car.

"Bob!" he cried, and ran toward the car. Opening its door quickly, he sprang inside and with tears streaming down his cheeks, threw his arms about Blake.

"Well, for Christ sake; what's the matter with you, sweetie pie?" Blake asked in amazement. He quickly placed an arm around the shaking shoulders and with the other lifted Gaylord's fallen head. "What is it?" He looked tenderly into the tear-soaked eyes. "Has anyone hurt you?" he almost whispered. "Tell me and I'll kill 'em." As the arms went around him, a feeling of peacefulness found its way into Gaylord's body. Thoughts of love and admiration shot through his bewildered mind on studying Blake's face. It was divided between the thrill of being where he was and the misery of Joy's eyes. He wanted so much to share this painful news with Blake. He well knew that the girl had not tricked him … and that only because of himself, weak and spineless, this had happened … and yet his blood ran quick with pride. He had not lied to her. Nothing could erase that fact … It was the only decent thing he had done.

Blake said, "What happened, Gay? Tell Bob … Why, your eyes are all bloodshot. Tell Bob what's wrong."

Gaylord glanced timidly at Blake. He had a trapped look. Said wearily, "I'm all right … now." He knew he didn't want to tell what had happened, but to himself he was wondering whether he really should after all. They faced each other for a moment, and there was something in Blake's face that unaccountably reminded Gaylord of past dreams, the loving condescension perhaps, or perhaps a softness under the brightness. He felt encouraged. "I'm fine, Bob," he whispered and took out a handkerchief and wiped it across his face.

"Sure?" Blake asked. He took Gaylord's hand. "Real sure?"

"Real sure." Blake didn't take his hand away. He thought he felt a little pressure. The bronze face so close troubled him. He tried not to see it. "I'm glad you came by," he said. "Been here long?"

"About ten minutes." Blake scrutinized his face kindly. "Sure 157