Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/310

 "I was going to call you last night and ask you to go to the show with me."

"I wish you would have … I stayed home all evening."

"I was afraid you didn't like westerns, so I went alone. Then too, I just knew you wouldn't be home on Saturday night. I've called during the week and you're never at home … do you ever stay home?"

"I have been running around a lot lately." He looked at Rogers but saw a deep bronze face. Blake's face was as plain as if it was before him. "I'll call you tonight," it said. "We'll go places … just you and I."

He felt like someone peering through the keyhole of a locked door. A door that had no key or even a knob for him to turn and enter. Footsteps echoed in his mind, whispers, and memories, and he wished the vision was less remote; and himself anything but the creature that he was in his soft coat and shirt, his creased trousers.

Tillie Rogers, neat and trim, broke Gaylord's vision. "I bet you're Gaylord," she said and the dimples in her cheeks deepened.

"Yes, ma'am, I am … and I bet you're Mrs. Rogers."

She extended her gloved hand. "It's nice to meet you, Gaylord. Glenn has talked and talked about you. It's about time we met."

"Thanks, Mrs. Rogers," said Gaylord. He liked the way she spoke. He looked at Rogers and then back at her. "I hope it's been good things you've been hearing."

"They certainly have been." She turned from one boy to the other. "Glenn doesn't make friends easily but he certainly has taken to you."

"Mother," blushed Rogers.

"Well, you have, haven't you?"

"Well …"

"I think a lot of Glenn too," put in Gaylord. He liked Mrs. Rogers very much. She made you feel so at ease.

"Why, Gaylord Le Claire," a woman cried in a fish peddler's voice. "Ain't seen thu likes of ya fer near on a couple years." She reached out and hugged him vigorously right there in front of everybody.

Gaylord blushed at his mother's ex-housekeeper's actions. She was 300