Читать книгу Parris Mitchell of Kings Row - Henry Bellamann - Страница 9

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Later that night Hazel Green had telephoned and asked for a morning appointment with Parris. The interview was a short one. She came to the point without preliminaries and asked Parris to take Donny Green as a patient, admitting that she had come without Fulmer’s knowledge.

Parris reluctantly agreed to have a talk with Donny but did not promise definitely to take the case. He felt sure from what Hazel told him of Donny’s behavior that the boy could profit by treatment, but he was equally sure that Donny would never agree to the long, slow, and often tiresome treatment necessary if a cure was to be effected.

After Hazel had gone, Parris sat at his desk wondering about the Greens. He had met Hazel a number of times, but this was the first time he had talked seriously with her. Hazel was really beautiful. Hers was an overemotional face, he thought, but there was something so balanced, so assured in the carriage of her head, that his first thought had been that here was a woman of extreme sensitivity yet of complete self-control. If she had felt any discomfort about the interview there was no indication of it in the direct gaze of her long, gray eyes, or in the steady, well-bred voice, but he sensed a tenseness beneath the seeming poise. She is not a happy woman, he suddenly decided, and was immediately assailed by a suspicion of his own ability to judge of the happiness or unhappiness of Fulmer Green’s wife.

He smiled at his own prejudice, but continued to wonder how a woman like Hazel ever came to marry Fulmer Green. Perhaps, he thought, trying to be fair, perhaps she was in love with him—but it must be difficult to stay in love with a man so—so lacking in integrity.

Parris’ lifelong habit of making an effort to be just took over. Perhaps, he admitted, Fulmer had not taken the time to decide what to do about questions of obligation, responsibility, pity, compassion, sacrifice, and their opposites. What to do about them, what to reject, ignore, accept, and what to incorporate. Maybe Fulmer was not so much to blame. A man could be knocked prostrate by some blow of fate and not be able to struggle to his feet. God knows, he thought, I have no right to assume a “holier than thou” attitude—when I am so uncertain about my own obligations. It’s not easy to distinguish always between right and wrong.

Feeling all at once depressed, Parris straightened the papers on his desk and was rising to leave, when there was a tap at his door. Miss Stolberg, the nurse in charge of the newly inaugurated musical therapy work, was there.

“Come in, Miss Stolberg. In trouble?”

“Not at all—quite the contrary. Can you give me a few minutes?”

“Certainly. Sit down.”

“I want to talk to you about Vera Lichinsky.”

“I’ve been wanting to ask how she’s responding.”

“It’s unbelievable, Doctor. She’s so much improved that I want to ask if I may take her to stay in my apartment. I have an extra room where she can practice without disturbing anyone.”

“I see no reason why you should not take charge of her if you wish.”

“I know so little of her past history, Doctor, but she is so unusual that I’d like to know more.”

“Vera was a classmate of mine in public school. She was gifted and worked like a slave at her music. She was driven by a father who concentrated all his own frustrated love of music in the child. He determined to make a great violinist of her—and he succeeded. She had no childhood—as such. She went early to Berlin, studied, made a sensational success as a concert artist, and after a short career—found suddenly that she could no longer play. That is the history of the case.”

“Did no one diagnose her trouble?”

“Seiss of Vienna tried, and later I talked with her here. The truth is, she diagnosed her own trouble with surprising accuracy, but she couldn’t rid herself of fear. Strangely enough, she was afraid of being shut up here in this hospital—and finally she committed herself.”

“Well, I’m happy to report that she is practicing for hours at a time, and with growing enthusiasm. She wants to talk with you. May I send her in—now?”

“Yes, of course.”

Vera Lichinsky stood quite still with her violin hanging at her side. She held it with seeming carelessness as violinists do after long years of acquaintance with their instruments. She was pale, and her lusterless hair was carelessly pinned back from her thin face, but her eyes were clear and she looked frankly at Dr. Mitchell, waiting for him to speak.

“Sit down, Vera. I want to know how you are getting along with your practice.”

“Parris, you are a friend as well as a physician to me. What you have done for me since I have been here is really incredible. This—” she swept her violin to her shoulder dramatically—“this is the treatment I needed. I had been starved—had starved myself. God knows why. But now I am beginning to play—really play.”

“I felt sure you would, Vera, given time to rest and think things out. You’ve been a remarkable patient.”

“I have a suggestion to make, Parris. Could you get some instruments for us? I’d like to organize a small orchestra among the patients here. There are a few really good musicians in the hospital. What the pianos and—and my fiddle have done should prove the value of music as a curative agent. Can’t we do that?”

“It’s a fine idea, Vera. Would you direct such a group?”

“Miss Stolberg would direct it. I could be concertmaster.” Vera’s eyes were sparkling.

“I’ll see what can be done, Vera. Miss Stolberg tells me you are going to share her apartment. You’ll have more time to practice there.”

“Parris, I’m going to be ready before long for concerts again, just as you promised me. How did you have the patience to work with me so long?”

“You must have been bored a great deal of the time by the endless repetitions of certain routines.”

“No,” she protested, “I think I’m too much of an egocentric to be bored as long as we talked about Vera Lichinsky. Maybe that’s why I wanted to be a concert artist anyhow—just sheer exhibitionism.”

“I think not. You simply gave your heart to music. You are still young, Vera. An interrupted career is not fatal. When you feel that you are ready, you’ll go east and place yourself in the hands of a reliable manager and you’ll make a new success for yourself.”

“I want to make money,” she said unexpectedly.

“Money? Why?”

“For the first time in my Life, Parris, I’m thinking of someone other than myself. I’ve been thinking of my brother Amos.”

“What about Amos?”

“He always wanted to paint—to be an artist. His head was always full of pictures—but he had to keep the shop. After Father’s death Amos had to make a living for—for me as well as himself. He never had a chance to do what he wanted to do.”

“He doesn’t complain. I’ve talked with him often. His only concern has been about you.”

“I know—but Amos can still have a chance to do what he wants—if I can make some money. Do you really think I can?”

“I’m convinced of it.”

“Money’s another thing I never thought about. There was always enough for my needs. What is money, anyhow?”

“My grandmother used to say that there were two kinds of money—the kind that was flat and could be stacked and the round kind that rolled. I’m afraid mine has been of the latter variety.”

Vera laughed aloud. At the sound, a look of astonishment spread across her face. “Do you realize, Parris, that this is the first time I’ve laughed in—in ten years?”

“Enjoy it?”

“Loved it. I’m a happy woman, Parris Mitchell, and I have you to thank—you and Miss Stolberg.”

“And your own good sense. I have a favor to ask of you, Vera.”

“Ask it.”

“Will you come to our apartment on Sunday afternoon and play for my wife and Mr. Lenz? I’ll play your accompaniments.”

Vera was silent for a moment, examining her own mind. All at once she made her decision. “I’ll be glad to, Parris.”

He drew a breath of relief—of satisfaction. This was more than he had hoped for.

“This is a good beginning—almost an end in itself, isn’t it, Parris?” Vera asked soberly.

“You’ve won a victory—a real one.”

Donny Green looked nervously at his watch and slowed his step. He was a little early for his appointment. The truth was he didn’t want to see Dr. Mitchell at all, but Hazel had put it squarely up to him. Either he had to go see Parris Mitchell or she would tell Fulmer he’d been hanging around the girls’ playground. He wondered uneasily just how much Hazel had found out. Why did she want to drag Parris Mitchell into this, anyhow, he thought resentfully. He was just nervous—just jumpy here lately. He didn’t see the connection. But anything was better than having to face Fulmer. Fulmer could be mean as the devil when he was mad. Well, there was nothing he could do about it. Hazel said he had to go—or else!

He looked warily up and down the street and turned into Dr. Mitchell’s office.

Parris’ trained eye recognized the uncertainty that lay behind the brazen air that Donny affected. A quick glance revealed the shaking hands and the unnaturally expanded pupils of his beautifully set blue eyes. A handsome boy, he thought, but lacking the ingratiating manner of his brother.

After a few preliminary questions, Parris offered the boy a cigarette. The act of lighting it seemed to restore Donny’s poise. He leaned back in his chair and looked for the first time straight into Parris’ eyes.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here, Dr. Mitchell. You work with crazy people and I’m not crazy. Hazel sent me because I’m—I’m all shot to pieces.”

“I can see that. What’s wrong?”

The boy hesitated, then said, “I’ve got to get some advice. I think you’re a doctor who wouldn’t gab.”

“Why, of course, Donny. It’s unthinkable that any physician would betray a confidence.”

“That’s what you think. I wouldn’t trust ’em—most of ’em. But—” Again he hesitated.

“Donny, you’ve come for help or you wouldn’t be here. What’s the trouble?”

“Didn’t Hazel tell you?”

“She only asked me to see you.”

Donny lifted his head and asked defiantly, “Well, what do you want to know?”

“Only what you wish to tell me.”

“I don’t know what makes me so nervous—unless it’s—Fulmer.”

“Fulmer?”

“Everybody thinks how good he is to me.”

“And isn’t he?”

Donny laughed mirthlessly. “Listen, Doctor, I’m fed up with—with belonging to Fulmer. I want a little freedom.”

“That’s a natural wish. No one wants to be possessed.”

Donny looked sharply at Parris, a quick flush spreading over his face. “I like girls, Doctor, and—Fulmer watches me like a hawk. He’s treated me like a—like a sweetheart ever since I was a kid.” He hesitated, then in sudden desperation, “Jesus Christ, Doctor, I’ve got to get free of this sickening business and I don’t know how.”

“The solution is simple. Live somewhere else.”

“On what?”

“Go to work. You’re old enough to get a job.”

“I don’t know how to do anything. I don’t want to work.”

“Have you told Fulmer how you feel?”

“Christ, no! He’d—he’d probably kill me. Even Hazel can’t talk to Fulmer. He flies off the handle too easy. Nobody can tell Fulmer anything. He’s so God-damned sure he’s right about everything.”

“You should probably talk more with Hazel. She wants to help you.”

“Hazel thinks I was born bad.”

“You’re mistaken about that. She knows people aren’t born bad—that conditioned responses have been learned. They aren’t biological.”

“Do you mean that when I do something wrong it’s because somebody taught me to do it?”

“Not exactly, Donny, but a casual remark may result in an emotional conditioning that persists all through your life—and may result in disaster.”

“Gee, that’s an idea. You know, Doctor, I’d like to know more about this stuff.”

“Donny, there’s very little any outsider can do about your problem. You’ll have to solve it yourself, but you must break off this unfortunate relationship. That is an absolute necessity—for the sake of your mental health. You’ve got to live a normal life—free of the kind of dependence on your brother you feel now.”

“I don’t see how it’s goin’ to work out. I’ve thought about it until I’m nearly crazy.”

“Get Fulmer to send you to the university.”

Donny narrowed his eyes with dawning suspicion. “That’s what Fulmer wants me to do—but I’m not going.”

“Why not?”

“I hate school—but at least I can get by here at Aberdeen. Fulmer pays a coach to help me keep up, but I couldn’t have one at the university.”

“You’re trumping up alibis.”

Donny flushed angrily. “If that’s all the help I get from you, I’m wasting my time.”

“I’m offering you practical advice—trying to make the break easy for you.”

“Sure, but the things you want me to do are—well, out of the question.”

Parris was touched, looking at the distraught young face. A weak face, but not really vicious, he thought. “Donny, you are allowing anxieties and hostilities to pile up until your mind is completely baffled. If it finds no way to get through the barriers set up, you’ll hide from yourself—escape through secret doors and lose yourself in the dark.”

“Those are just words. They don’t mean a darned thing to me.”

“Would you be willing to come to talk with me at least once a week for a while, and let me explain what I’m trying to tell you?”

“No, I guess I’d better not. Fulmer would have a double-action fit if he knew I came here.”

“I’m afraid in that case there’s not much I can do to help you. A psychiatrist—”

“Good Lord, Doctor, I didn’t come for that kind of fancy stuff. Hazel thought I ought to get advice from some doctor about—about my nervousness and I wanted to talk to somebody—just to get some things out of my system.”

“I see. You were looking for a ‘father confessor,’ as it were.”

Donny laughed then and his tension lessened. “Something like that. But,” with sudden suspicion, “I’ll probably do nothing about it. Old Fulmer’s been good to me. How do I know you and Hazel haven’t cooked up this scheme just to turn Fulmer against me?”

Parris rose and stood waiting for his visitor to leave. He felt himself growing cold inside, a certain precursor of an uncontrollable rage. He was able to check it, reminding himself of what he had been told so often—that no good analyst ever permitted himself to resent anything a patient said or did.

“I didn’t really mean that, Dr. Mitchell. I’ve got so I’m suspicious of everybody.” Donny was abjectly apologetic. “But honest to goodness, I’m as much in the dark as ever. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” He waited a moment, but Parris said nothing. “Give me time to think things over, Doctor. Maybe we can work something out.”

“You’ll have to be less hostile if you want help from me. Suppose we forget all about this interview?”

“I made you mad, didn’t I?”

“No.”

Donny glanced apprehensively at Parris and got himself awkwardly out of the office. Parris turned to the telephone.

Reporting the interview to Hazel, he carefully omitted any mention of Donny’s admission of his relation with his brother. At the moment Parris’ resentment at Donny’s crude behavior extended to Hazel. She had thrust this interview upon him and now he found himself the unwilling possessor of damaging information about the Greens.

Donny, on his part, was in a state of acute embarrassment. Why had he told that stuff to Parris Mitchell—of all people? Hazel got him into this, damn her. One thing was certain. He’d not go near that place again. Funny, though, Dr. Mitchell had said some things that sounded interesting—all that about not being born bad. He’d like to know about that. Oh, what the hell!

One spring day Punch Rayne and Dyanna Slater had discovered the old von Eln orchard and the willow-bordered pond, and they had begun to think of the place as their own.

They lived in Jinktown, that small group of houses at the foot of Aberdeen Hill, and as children they had played in its narrow streets. But now it was different, for they were deeply in love.

Walker Rayne, nicknamed “Punch,” was an orphan and seemed older than his seventeen years. Life for the underprivileged in Kings Row was hard enough at best, but in his case a sense of being unwanted had contributed to a kind of timid repression and deprived him of the free look of youth. He was stocky, muscular, and exceptionally shy. His eyes were brown and long-lashed and serious. A lock of dark hair dropped across a wide brow. He had a way of thrusting it back with an angry gesture that utterly belied the simple and patient nature that was his.

Just now he was concerned with one thing only—Dyanna. He must get a better job so he could take care of her. He must do so well that her Aunt Carrie would let them get married. Of course, Dyanna was only fifteen, but they were willing to wait until her sixteenth birthday. That was a long way off, it seemed to him.

Walking along the avenue of cedars, his arm around Dyanna’s waist, he realized how thin and frail she was. The color in her pretty face reminded him of the pink hyacinths they had seen blooming here in the spring, but maybe the color meant she was happy just walking with him. A swift stab of apprehension ran along his nerves. What if Dyanna should get sick? What if she should die? He drew the little figure closer and their steps slowed.

“Let’s go sit by the pond, honey. Ain’t you tired?”

“Not a bit, Punch. It’s a wonderful day. But it’s nice in the shade down there. Let’s run!”

“Maybe it’s too hot for you to run, Dyanna. You’re so little an’ all.”

Dyanna laughed and ran down the slope with a lightness that was like dancing. She wore her happiness like an aura. Punch followed more slowly. He felt a curious tightness in his throat. Surely nothing in the world had ever been so beautiful as that slip of a girl running across the tangled grass. Her shabby clothes could not spoil the picture for him. He did not know they were ill-fitting and unbecoming. To him she was lovely.

Maybe, he thought shamefacedly, he would not be able to wait until she was sixteen, until he had a better job. Maybe Aunt Carrie would understand how he felt if he could only talk—only say what he felt for Dyanna. But, he knew despairingly, he’d never be able to think up the right words. Aunt Carrie would be hard to convince.

When he caught up with Dyanna he was hunting frantically for something to say that would show her what he was feeling. They sat down on the ledge of rock just above the spring that fed the pond.

“Dyanna, you love your Aunt Carrie a lot, don’t you?”

“Why, yes, I guess I do. We don’t never talk about it none, her an’ me. I’m all she’s got, though I guess I don’t rightly belong to her. She took me in when I was too little to know anything, an’ she’s been awful good to me. She does for me like I was her own child. I’m awful beholden to her. She was all I had, too”—Dyanna looked timidly away—“till you an’ me—”

“Found out we loved each other?” Punch spoke boldly enough now that he saw Dyanna floundering in embarrassment.

“I guess Aunt Carrie’d just about die if anything happened to me. Like I said, I’m all she’s got.”

“And believe me, honey, she’s lucky to have anything as sweet as you around.”

“You’re just talkin’ to hear yourself talk! I bet you don’t mean it.”

“I got half a mind to show you how much I mean it, but I reckon I hadn’t better.”

“Dare you, mister!”

“You just wait! Dyanna, what you reckon your Aunt Carrie will do when we get married?”

Dyanna pulled up a blade of grass and chewed it speculatively before she answered. “She’ll want us to live with her. I got a room of my own an’ you could live there with us.”

“I wasn’t exactly figurin’ on that,” Punch said. “I figure I can take care of you an’ get us a house to live in. I’m gonna get me a new job.”

“Well, we don’t need to talk about that for a long time, yet. I ain’t but fifteen an’ I know she won’t let me get married till I’m real grown up.”

“When folks are grown up enough to be in love, they’re grown up enough to get married, an’ I don’t see no sense in waitin’. Dyanna, I’m lovin’ you so much that I’m hurtin’. Maybe if we don’t get married pretty soon somebody might take you away from me. I couldn’t stand that. I believe I’d kill anybody that tried to take you away from me.”

“Nobody’s ever goin’ to try, Punch. I’d tell anybody in the world that I’m your girl an’ I’ve got no time for other folks.”

“Aw, Dyanna, you’re awful sweet. I can’t hardly keep my hands off you, but I reckon I got to.”

“I ain’t skeered.”

“I am. But I’m gonna ask Aunt Carrie soon’s I get my job.”

“You can’t surprise her. She caught me tellin’ my fortune with apple seeds an’ she said, ‘You thinkin’ about that Punch Rayne?’ an’ I said maybe I was.”

Punch had been lying back, resting on his elbow, but he sat up quickly and asked excitedly, “Was she mad, honey, do you think?”

“Of course she wasn’t mad. Just sort of teasin’ me about my fortune an’ all.”

“Maybe she’ll let us!”

“Let us what, silly?”

“Let us get married.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Dyanna said doubtfully.

“Gee, Dyanna, seems as if I can’t stand it any longer not havin’ you. It ain’t right. Honest, it ain’t. You got no idea how a feller feels when he loves a girl like I do you.”

“I do, too, know how you feel. I got feelings my own self. If we can’t get married for a long time I aim to be with you just the same.”

“What you mean, Dyanna?” Punch asked breathlessly.

“Just what I said. I aim to be happy while I can. You might go away or—or somethin’, an’ I wouldn’t ever know what it was like to—to—be right close up to you like we was married.”

“Honey, I’m gonna talk to Aunt Carrie tomorrow an’ she’s just got to do what we want. Listen, Dyanna, how about meetin’ me Sunday night an’ comin’ out here for a little while? We got to talk about our plans. I got to go in town now to see Mr. Dyer. He promised me a job at the butcher shop an’ I want to see him before he goes home.”

“Aunt Carrie might not like me to come out here at night.”

“It’s all right to come with me. I don’t mean you no harm, but I just got to be with you, honey. I’ll die if we can’t fix it so’s we can get married.”

“All right, Punch. I got to tell Aunt Carrie, though. I ain’t ever been anywhere at night by myself.”

“I better come by an’ get you at home. Aunt Carrie won’t care if you come walkin’ with me.”

For a week after his talk with Dr. Mitchell, Donny Green went about sullen and morose. His hostility to Parris Mitchell was mounting with his unease. Suppose Fulmer should find out that he had told Parris—had told him the truth? What would Fulmer do? Probably kick him out. No use talking, he’d have to do something to get in solid with Fulmer so if he did find out about the visit, it wouldn’t make so much difference. Somehow he felt sure the doctor wouldn’t tell, but there was Hazel. She might let it out sometime when she and Fulmer were having a run-in. Pity there wasn’t some way to set Fulmer against both of them and then—to hell with the two of them!

Donny had started out this Friday afternoon with the intention of walking down to the Jinktown playground. He’d show Hazel she couldn’t boss him around. But when he reached the foot of the hill he saw Hazel’s car and he turned off and followed the road to the von Eln place.

As he approached the big front gates he saw Dr. Mitchell and his wife and Randy McHugh leaving the place in Dr. Mitchell’s car. Donny’s blue eyes narrowed to calculating slits and then opened with interest as he thought, I bet he’s planning to buy this place back. Fulmer might like to know that. Gee, this was a break. This would get him on the good side of Fulmer.

Just then Donny saw the little Jinktown couple turn into the gates. He decided to trail them and see what they were doing.

Taking a short cut through the willow thicket, he had just reached the seclusion of an overgrown ditch when he heard Punch and Dyanna coming down the slope. He hoped they wouldn’t see him but if they did he would tell them he was looking over the place for Fulmer. Everybody knew Fulmer was in the legislature and had a perfect right to know what was happening on state lands. But Punch and Dyanna evidently weren’t up to anything they wanted to hide. They sat at the edge of the spring where anybody passing could see. Oh, a few kisses and a little hand-holding, but nothing really interesting. Donny wished they would hurry up and leave. He wasn’t too comfortable crouched down like that. All at once, he lifted his head to listen more closely. They were planning to meet here Sunday night. Now that was something like!

As soon as Punch and Dyanna had gone, Donny hurried away to find his crony Elwee Neal. He’d get Elwee to come back here with him Sunday night and they’d have some fun. Punch Rayne had no business running around with that pretty little Slater kid, anyhow, he thought. Donny had seen her several times when he had been down in Jinktown on errands for Fulmer, or on shadier business of his own. They would give Punch a good scare. Who’d he think he was, anyway?

On his way to the hardware store where Elwee Neal had a summer job, Donny decided to drop in at Fulmer’s office first and tell him about seeing Parris Mitchell at the von Eln place.

Fulmer Green sat at his desk, frowning over a list of figures that evidently displeased him. His close-set blue eyes stared unbelievingly at the page and a wave of red spread from his thick neck up into his heavy, handsome face. He reached for a cigarette without lifting his eyes, found a match, and lighted it, still without looking, then with a muttered “Damn!” he leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily.

His expression warmed into an affectionate grin when he saw that it was his young brother whose shadow fell across the desk. There were exactly two people in the world Fulmer really loved, his brother Donny and his own young son, Prentiss.

“Hello, Don, what’s on your mind?”

“Plenty.”

“Spill it.”

“I was out on the von Eln place today projecting around, and I saw Parris Mitchell there.”

“So what? His old home, isn’t it?”

“Bet you a nickel he’s figuring on buying it back from the state. Randy McHugh was with him.”

Fulmer’s head came up with a jerk. “Randy McHugh? Wonder what his wife would think of that?”

“Oh, shucks, Fulmer, Mrs. Mitchell was with ’em. That ain’t what I’m talkin’ about. Couldn’t you get an option on the place and sort of hold him up? He’s got the money and you might pick up a tidy little sum. If I know Dr. Mitchell he wouldn’t stand back on a little difference in price.”

“You don’t know Parris Mitchell if you think it’s easy to put anything over on him. He’s got plenty of sense if he does seem to have his head in the clouds. And there’s Randy McHugh to reckon with.”

Donny knew the way Fulmer’s mind worked and it always irritated him. It was Fulmer’s habit to combat suggestions until he had seen for himself all the weaknesses of a scheme.

“No—lookit here,” he persisted. “I’m bringing you a hot tip, Fulmer, and you haven’t sense enough to realize it.”

“No use to go off half-cocked. You have to think these things out. He can’t buy it anyhow without a special act of the legislature. State lands are hard to transfer.”

“How would he go about it?”

“Send in his bid and wait for the next session of the legislature before getting any action on it.”

“That ought to make it a cinch for you. Get it fixed so you’ll have first chance.”

“You talk like a damn fool, Don.”

“Looks easy as fallin’ off a log to me.”

“I’ll be up there, but so will several hundred lobbyists. Nolan’s got influence, and if Parris Mitchell wants to buy state land it will take some doing to keep him from getting it. I don’t know why it is, but Paul Nolan’s got a lot of people behind him,” he added irritably.

“You got influence, yourself. All you need do is to get a move on.”

“Maybe. Dave Kettring’s the man to watch. He and Nolan are thick as thieves, and he’s really smart, that Kettring. I remember that time we had the run-in about the university—say, there, I knew there was something I wanted to talk to you about!”

“Oh, gosh, Fulmer, don’t get going on that school stuff again. I’ve definitely made up my mind I’m not going to the university. Elwee Neal’s not going, either.”

“I don’t give a damn what that bum does, but you’re different, Don. You’re a good-looking chap—”

“Aw, Fulmer,” Donny’s voice took on a whining note, “you know how I feel about you. I—I can’t stand the idea of being away from you like that.”

A slow flush spread over Fulmer’s face and the lines about his mouth slackened, but he did not look at Donny, whose half-closed eyes were watching his brother sharply.

“Fulmer, you mean everything to me. What do I care about an education—or anything that keeps me away from you?”

Fulmer spoke with an evident effort. “Don, you’ve got plenty of brains and I want to see you make something of yourself.”

“What do you mean, make something of myself?”

“You ought to be ready to take over here when I give out. That’s why I want you to go to the university and get an education.”

“Why can’t I stay here and learn the business from you? I’ll bet you learned more from experience than you ever did at law school.”

“Don, you don’t even know what I’m talking about. I want to see you take your rightful place in the community. There’s not a boy in Kings Row who has a better chance than I’m giving you right now. Not even the Pomeroy boys.”

“Oh, those nuts.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call them nuts. There’s Ross doing graduate work at Harvard, and McKay in the junior class at the university. You’re the same age as McKay and you aren’t anywhere yet.”

“I sure wouldn’t want to grub like those boys. Their old man’s got plenty of dough to leave ’em well fixed, anyhow. I don’t see why they don’t stop and have a little fun.”

“They have fun enough. They don’t need to run around with a lot of hoodlums to have their kind of fun. That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You’d be a lot better off if you’d run with their crowd.”

“Too damned stuffy for my taste. Those boys are stand-offish anyhow. They think they’re better than the rest of us.”

Fulmer’s face purpled slowly and he leaned across his desk, pounding softly with his fist to accent his words. “Never let me hear you say a thing like that again, Don. Nobody’s better than we are, do you hear? Nobody!”

That got under his skin—does it every time, Donny thought. “It don’t get me fussed up none,” he said airily. “I just say to myself I’m Fulmer Green’s brother and that’s something in this town—in this state, too.” With that he placed his hat on his crisply curling blond head at a particularly jaunty angle, adjusted his green striped tie, and with an airy “So long” walked out of the office.

Out of Fulmer’s sight Donny drew a breath of relief. He looked at the courthouse clock and quickened his gait. It was time for Ned Porter’s store to be closed and Elwee Neal would be waiting.

Ned Porter had gone home, leaving Elwee Neal to sweep out and lock up the store. The boy set about this last job of the day with a reluctance of movement that showed boredom rather than fatigue. He was still sprinkling the oiled sawdust on the floor, tossing it out with wide, careless sweeps of his right arm, when Donny came in.

Elwee grunted an acknowledgment of his friend’s presence.

Donny took a seat on the wooden counter, his legs swinging. “Hurry up, kid. I want to talk to you—private.”

Elwee tossed the sawdust sack aside and took a broom from its resting place against the wall. “Talk,” he invited. He had a high-pitched, childish voice. “Old squint-eye Porter’s gone.”

Donny followed him to the front door and moved with him slowly, talking all the way, as Elwee swept toward the back of the store. “And there they were, Elwee, two smart-aleck Jinktowners—sitting out there horsing around just like it was their own front yard. On state property!”

Elwee paused in his sweeping. “Horsing around?” Elwee had no interest in state property or what was done on it, but he had a great deal of enthusiasm for titillating gossip. “What were they doing, exactly?”

“Well, old Punch had his arm around Dyanna’s waist—”

“Was he kissing her? I mean did she let him?”

“Well, not exactly—not while I was looking, that is. But like I say, they are meeting there Sunday night.” He winked. “And, boy, you know what that means. When a girl will sneak off to meet a boy at night—”

“Gee, wouldn’t you love to be right there an’ see ’em get hot? I bet Punch is a humdinger.”

“Bet anybody’d be with that pretty kid.”

“Boy, I wish I was in his shoes. She’s a good-looker, ain’t she?”

“Too pretty to be wastin’ herself on Punch Rayne.”

“Say, maybe we could take her away from him. I’d like to get me a piece.”

“Me, too. This might be a good chance.”

“How you mean?”

“We could do it, maybe.”

Elwee resumed his sweeping, thoughtfully. “Awright,” he said, “I’ll go with you.”

Donny had been glancing furtively, as they talked, toward a glass case in which were displayed a pair of pistols and a shotgun. Now he walked over to the case and leaned against it. “We could have some fun,” he suggested, “if you had nerve enough to borrow one of these guns to take with us. We could scare the living daylights out of old Punch.”

Elwee shook his head. “Mr. Porter might find out.”

“Aw, come on, Elwee, don’t be a sissy.” Donny slid back the glass door and lifted out one of the pistols. “Stick ’em up,” he commanded, pointing the pistol at a water tank near by. He lowered his naturally gruff voice, coarsened it until it had a guttural sound. “You’re on state property, boy. Start runnin’ or I’ll drill you so full of holes you’ll look like Swiss cheese!”

Elwee laughed and added his bit. “Make tracks, boy, or eat lead!” He was beginning to see dramatic possibilities in Donny’s plan. He took the gun into his hands and gripped it experimentally. “Do you think,” he asked slowly, “we could maybe borrow a couple of these—and nobody would find out?”

Donny’s voice was casual and assured. “Sure, boy. Sure. You open up Monday mornin’ don’t you? All you got to do would be to put ’em back before old man Porter comes in.”

Elwee leaned on his broom and chewed his lip, considering. It did seem simple enough. Maybe they’d scare old Punch away, and then Dyanna would be left there. Pretty kid, that Dyanna Slater. He’d walk home with her and maybe he could get her off in the woods with him. After all, a girl who goes out alone—at night—

He grinned. “It’s a deal. Come by my house about eight-thirty. I’ll have the guns.”

Donny nodded. “Bullets, too?”

“Bullets? Hell, no! What do you think this is? It’s risky enough just takin’ the guns!”

Donny laughed. “Awright, awright. Take it easy, boy. The guns’ll be enough to handle a Jinktowner.”