Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/181



ENVELOPED IN A COMPOUNDING haze of glaring colored lights, New Orleans, fabulous city of the south, spread out before Gaylord from his twelve story hotel window. He gazed down on the rolling reverberations of cabs, street cars and people.

"I'm yours for tonight," the squeaking cab horns screamed and rambled over the uneven streets. "We won't hurt you," the tops of the queer-shaped buildings groaned, their voices old and toothless. "Come down and dance with us," yelled the jazz bands from the dimly lighted cracks. "I'm really the old man of the river," hooted a steamer from the mighty river. "We'll show you the way," blazed the dazzling array of different colored streams of lights. "I'm old," wailed the high steeple, "but I'm strong. I was built of cypress and pine. I won't fall on you." They all joined in with one exploding shout, "Come on … join us … enjoy us … we're here for you … each and every one of us are here for your pleasure tonight."

Gaylord heard all this and loved it. He was excited and anxious to be among them all. The drive had been long, hot and dusty but after a quick shower and fresh linens, plus a delicious dinner with his parents, he felt refreshed and eager.

His parents had gone to their room, after giving Gaylord permission to go out sightseeing …

"Don't stay out too late, Gay. And be careful," Clayton Le Claire had warned him.

"I won't, dad," Gaylord had answered.

Gaylord took one last look and walked away from the window. He stopped at the dresser; took another look at himself, then left the room. 171