Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/332



DUSK HAD FALLEN ON COTTON, Texas, and the dim-spread beams of street lights stretched out before him quiet and serene. He drove through the center of town, passing the square. It seemed more deserted than usual. There were people on the sidewalks but most of the stores were closed and there was none of the crowded hurry and bustle that had become common of late. He came into the old residential section at the foot of Columbus and West Grey Streets. Gaylord noticed again how badly kept all the old familiar houses were beginning to look. Many of them had become apartment houses, one a tea room. Little signs advertised their changed status. He was relieved when he had passed through it and turned down his own street.

The swim and tramping through the woods had been fun but it was going to feel good to be home. He was tired, but when he had let Rogers out in front of his own home, Rogers had suggested a show. "I'm not tired," he had cried … "Let's go to a show, Gay."

"No thank you," Gaylord had replied … "I'm going home … See you tomorrow."

"Remember next Sunday."

"I won't forget," he had said before driving off and leaving Rogers. And now Gaylord looked out of the car window gazing out moodily at the passing scene. Seventeen years of viewing the world around him had given his eyes an accustomed slant, and he had no desire to change his perspective now. He was too tired.

A car moaned behind but it made not a ripple on his private reverie. This reverie was a pleasant one dominated by the prideful knowledge that Glenn Rogers liked him.

He pulled off the street into his driveway and stopped his car in the garage. He sat for a moment before descending, recalling the past 322