Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/296



TED MILES STOOD UNDER THE HOTEL awning smoking a cigarette, wondering just what he should do. Something about the superb cut of his clothes and the spotlessness of his linen reminded one of an advertisement for costly tailors and haberdashers. The freshness of his face and the breeziness of his bearing in no way suggested his inner thoughts. He watched the bellboys loading and unloading cabs. They moved up and down the steps like ants, each with his bag slung under his arm, bending eagerly at the sight of a coin or a rumpled bill. He looked down at them again and ran a hand over his smooth jaw.

For some time he was not aware of Paul's close presence, but when he noticed the wet clothed boy, he smiled.

"Looks like you got caught in the rain," he said good-naturedly.

Paul grinned back and stroked the front of his shirt. "I sure did … This is some night, isn't it?"

"It sure is. Does it rain like this often in New Orleans?"

"This is typical New Orleans weather. It'll probably continue like this for a couple of days."

"Oh, no; don't say that." Ted chuckled. He threw away his cigarette and lit another one. He also handed Paul the package. "It would rain on my first day here. What in the hell can a fellow do on a night like this?"

"I generally get drunk," said Paul and wished the eyes were blue instead of brown. There was a provocative glance, and a gleam of perfect teeth. His face was arresting, sensitive, medieval in some strange inexplicable way, and Paul was reminded of a dancer he had once known. Could he but rob him of his English tweeds, and put him 286