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"All Right," Hugh Agreed Indifferently And Began To Pull On His Baa-Baa

Coat. "I'm With You. A Shot Of Gin Might Jazz Me Up A Little."

 

Once In Hastings,  Pearson Drove To A Private Residence At The Edge Of

The Town. The Boys Got Out Of The Car And Filed Around To The Back Door,

Which Was Opened To Their Knock By A Young Man With A Hatchet Face And

Hard Blue Eyes.

 

"Hello,  Mr. Pearson," He Said With An Effort To Be Pleasant. "Want Some

Gin?"

 

"Yes,  And Some Scotch,  Too,  Pete--If You Have It. I'll Take Two Quarts

Of Scotch And One Of Gin."

 

"All Right." Pete Led The Way Down Into The Cellar,  Switching On An

Electric Light When He Reached The Foot Of The Stairs. There Was A Small

Bar In The Rear Of The Dingy,  Underground Room,  A Table Or Two,  And

Dozens Of Small Boxes Stacked Against The Wall.

 

It Was Hugh's First Visit To A Bootlegger's Den,  And He Was Keenly

Interested. He Had A High-Ball Along With Carl And Pearson; Then Took

Another When Carl Offered To Stand Treat. Pearson Bought His Three

Quarts Of Liquor,  Paid Pete,  And Departed Alone,  Carl And Hugh Having

Decided To Have Another Drink Or Two Before They Returned To

Haydensville. After A Second High-Ball Hugh Did Not Care How Many He

Drank And Was Rather Peevish When Carl Insisted That He Stop With A

Third. Pete Charged Them Eight Dollars For Their Drinks,  Which They

Cheerfully Paid,  And Then Warily Climbed The Stairs And Stumbled Out

Into The Cold Winter Air.

 

"Brr," Said Carl,  Buttoning His Coat Up To His Chin; "It's Cold As

Hell."

 

"So 'Tis," Hugh Agreed; "So 'Tis. So 'Tis. That's Pretty. So 'Tis,  So

'Tis,  So 'Tis. Isn't That Pretty,  Carl?"

 

"Awful Pretty. Say It Again."

 

"So 'Tis. So 'Tish. So--So--So. What Wush It,  Carl?"

 

"So 'Tis."

 

"Oh,  Yes. So 'Tish."

 

They Walked Slowly,  Arm In Arm,  Toward The Business Section Of Hastings,

Pausing Now And Then To Laugh Joyously Over Something That Appealed To

Them As Inordinately Funny. Once It Was A Tree,  Another Time A Farmer In

A Sleigh,  And A Third Time A Ford. Hugh Insisted,  After Laughing Until

He Wept,  That The Ford Was The "Funniest Goddamned Thing" He'd Ever

Seen. Carl Agreed With Him.

 

They Were Both Pretty Thoroughly Drunk By The Time They Reached The

Center Of The Town,  Where They Intended Getting The Bus Back To

Haydensville. Two Girls Passed Them And Smiled Invitingly.

 

"Oh,  What Peaches," Carl Exclaimed.

 

"Jush--Jush--Jush Swell," Hugh Said With Great Positiveness,  Hanging On

To Carl's Arm. "They're The Shwellest Janes I've Ever Sheen."

 

The Girls,  Who Were A Few Feet Ahead,  Turned And Smiled Again.

 

"Let's Pick Them Up," Carl Whispered Loudly.

 

"Shure," And Hugh Started Unsteadily To Increase His Pace.

 

The Girls Were Professional Prostitutes Who Visited Hastings Twice A

Year "To Get The Sanford Trade." They Were Crude Specimens,  Revealing

Their Profession To The Most Casual Observer. If Hugh Had Been Sober

They Would Have Sickened Him,  But He Wasn't Sober; He Was Joyously Drunk

And The Girls Looked Very Desirable.

 

"Hello,  Girls," Carl Said Expansively,  Taking Hold Of One Girl's Arm.

"Busy?"

 

"Bish-Bishy?" Hugh Repeated Valiantly.

 

The Older "Girl" Smiled,  Revealing Five Gold Teeth.

 

"Of Course Not," She Replied In A Hard,  Flat Voice. "Not Too Busy For

You Boys,  Anyway. Come Along With Us And We'll Make This A Big

Afternoon."

 

"Sure," Carl Agreed.

 

"Sh-Shure," Hugh Stuttered. He Reached Forward To Take The Arm Of The

Girl Who Had Spoken,  But At The Same Instant Some One Caught Him By The

Wrist And Held Him Still.

 

Harry Slade,  The Star Football Player And This Year's Captain,  Happened

To Be In Hastings; He Was,  In Fact,  Seeking These Very Girls. He Had

Intended To Pass On When He Saw Two Men With Them,  But As Soon As He

Recognized Hugh He Paused And Then Impulsively Strode Forward.

 

"Here,  Carver," He Said Sharply. "What Are You Doing?"

 

"None--None Of You Da-Damn Business," Hugh Replied Angrily,  Trying To

Shake His Wrist Free. "Leggo Of Me Or--Or I'll--I'll--"

 

"You Won't Do Anything," 'Slade Interrupted. "You're Going Home With

Me."

 

"Who In Hell Are You?" One Of The Girls Asked Viciously. "Mind Your Own

Damn Business."

 

"You Mind Yours,  Sister,  Or You'll Get Into A Peck Of Trouble. This

Kid's Going With Me--And Don't Forget That. Come On,  Carver."

 

Hugh Was Still Vainly Trying To Twist His Wrist Free And Was Muttering,

"Leggo,  Leggo O' Me."

 

Slade Jerked Him Across The Sidewalk. Carl Followed Expostulating. "Get

The Hell Out Of Here,  Peters," Slade Said Angrily,  "Or I'll Knock Your

Fool Block Off. You Chase Off With Those Rats If You Want To,  But You

Leave Carver With Me If You Know What's Good For You." He Shoved Carl

Away,  And Carl Was Sober Enough To Know That Slade Meant What He Said.

Each Girl Took Him By An Arm,  And He Walked Off Down The Street Between

Them,  Almost Instantly Forgetting Hugh.

 

Fortunately The Street Was Nearly Deserted,  And No One Had Witnessed The

Little Drama. Hugh Began To Sob Drunkenly. Slade Grasped His Shoulders

And Shook Him Until His Head Waggled. "Now,  Shut Up!" Slade Commanded

Sharply. He Took Hugh By The Arm And Started Down The Street With Him,

Hugh Still Muttering,  "Leggo,  Leggo O' Me."

 

Slade Walked Him The Whole Five Miles Back To Haydensville,  And Before

They Were Half Way Home Hugh's Head Began To Clear. For A Time He Felt A

Little Sick,  But The Nausea Passed,  And When They Reached The Campus He

Was Quite Sober. Not A Word Was Spoken Until Hugh Unlocked The Door Of

Surrey 19. Then Slade Said: "Go Wash Your Face And Head In Cold Water.

Souse Yourself Good And Then Come Back; I Want To Have A Talk With You."

 

Hugh Obeyed Orders,  But With Poor Grace. He Was Angry And Confused,

Angry Because His Liberty Had Been Interfered With,  And Confused Because

Slade Had Never Paid More Than Passing Attention To Him--And For A Year

And A Half Slade Had Been His God.

 

Slade Was One Of Those Superb Natural Athletes Who Make History For Many

Colleges. He Was Big,  Powerfully Built,  And Moved As Easily As A

Dancer. His Features Were Good Enough,  But His Brown Eyes Were Dull And

His Jaw Heavy Rather Than Strong. Hugh Had Often Heard That Slade

Dissipated Violently,  But He Did Not Believe The Rumors; He Was Positive

That Slade Could Not Be The Athlete He Was If He Dissipated. He Had Been

Thrilled Every Time Slade Had Spoken To Him--The Big Man Of The College,

The One Sanford Man Who Had Ever Made All American,  As Slade Had This

Year.

 

When He Returned To His Room From The Bath-Room,  Slade Was Sitting In A

Big Chair Smoking A Cigarette. Hugh Walked Into His Bedroom,  Combed His

Dripping Hair,  And Then Came Into The Study,  Still Angry But Feeling A

Little Sheepish And Very Curious.

 

"Well,  What Is It?" He Demanded,  Sitting Down.

 

"Do You Know Who Those Women Were?"

 

"No. Who Are They?"

 

"They're Bessie Haines And Emma Gleeson; At Least,  That's What They Call

Themselves,  And They're Rotten Bags."

 

Hugh Had A Little Quiver Of Fright,  But He Felt That He Ought To Defend

Himself.

 

"Well,  What Of It?" He Asked Sullenly. "I Don't See As You Had Any Right

To Pull Me Away. You Never Paid Any Attention Before To Me. Why This

Sudden Interest? How Come You're So Anxious To Guard My Purity?"

 

Slade Was Embarrassed. He Threw His Cigarette Into The Fireplace And

Immediately Lighted Another One. Then He Looked At His Shoes And

Muttered,  "I'm A Pretty Bad Egg Myself."

 

"So I've Heard." Hugh Was Frankly Sarcastic.

 

"Well,  I Am." Slade Looked Up Defiantly. "I Guess It's Up To Me To

Explain--And I Don't Know How To Do It. I'm A Dumbbell. I Can't Talk

Decently. I Flunked English One Three Times,  You Know." He Hesitated A

Moment And Then Blurted Out,  "I Was Looking For Those Bags Myself."

 

"What?" Hugh Leaned Forward And Stared At Him,  Bewildered And

Dumfounded. "_You_ Were Looking For Them?"

 

"Yeah... You See,  I'm A Bad Egg--Always Been A Bad One With Women,  Ever

Since I Was A Kid. Gotta Have One About Every So Often.... I--I'm Not

Much."

 

"But What Made You Stop Me?" Hugh Pressed His Hand To His Temple. His

Head Was Aching,  And He Could Make Nothing Out Of Slade's Talk.

 

"Because--Because.... Oh,  Hell,  Carver,  I Don't Know How To Explain It.

I'm Twenty-Four And You're About Nineteen And I Know A Lot That You

Don't. I Was Brought Up In South Boston And I Ran With A Gang. There

Wasn't Anything Rotten That We Didn't Do.... I've Been Watching You.

You're Different."

 

"How Different?" Hugh Demanded. "I Want Women Just As Much As You Do."

 

"That Isn't It." Slade Ran His Fingers Through His Thick Black Hair And

Scowled Fiercely At The Fireplace. "That Isn't It At All. You're--You're

Awfully Clean And Decent. I've Been Watching You Lots--Oh,  For A Year.

You're--You're Different," He Finished Lamely.

 

Hugh Was Beginning To Understand. "Do You Mean," He Asked Slowly,  "That

You Want Me To Keep Straight--That--That,  Well--That You Like Me That

Way Better?" He Was Really Asking Slade If He Admired Him,  And Slade Got

His Meaning Perfectly. To Hugh The Idea Was Preposterous. Why,  Slade Had

Made Every Society On The Campus; He Had Been Given Every Honor That The

Students Could Heap On Him--And He Envied Hugh,  An Almost Unknown

Sophomore. Why,  It Was Ridiculous.

 

"Yes,  That's What I Mean; That's What I Was Trying To Get At." For A

Minute Slade Hesitated; He Wasn't Used To Giving Expression To His

Confused Emotions,  And He Didn't Know How To Go About It. "I'd--I'd Like

To Be Like You; That's It. I--I Didn't Want You To Be Like Me.... Those

Women Are Awful Bags. Anything Might Happen."

 

"Why Didn't You Stop Carl Peters,  Too,  Then?"

 

"Peters Knows His Way About. He Can Take Care Of Himself. You're

Different,  Though.... You've Never Been Drunk Before,  Have You?"

 

"No. No,  I Never Have." Hugh's Irritation Was All Gone. He Was Touched,

Deeply Touched,  By Slade's Clumsy Admiration,  And He Felt Weak,

Emotionally Exhausted After His Little Spree. "It's Awfully Good Of You

To--To Think Of Me That Way. I'm--I'm Glad You Stopped Me."

 

Slade Stood Up. He Felt That He Had Better Be Going. He Couldn't Tell

Hugh How Much He Liked And Admired Him,  How Much He Envied Him. He Was

Altogether Sentimental About The Boy,  Entirely Devoted To Him. He Had

Wanted To Talk To Hugh More Than Hugh Had Wanted To Talk To Him,  But He

Had Never Felt That He Had Anything To Offer That Could Possibly

Interest Hugh. It Was A Strange Situation; The Hero Had Put The Hero

Worshiper On A High,  White Marble Pedestal.

 

He Moved Toward The Door. "So Long," He Said As Casually As He Could.

 

Hugh Jumped Up And Rushed To Him. "I'm Awfully Grateful To You,  Harry,"

He Said Impulsively. "It Was Damn White Of You. I--I Don't Know How To

Thank You." He Held Out His Hand.

 

Slade Gripped It For A Moment,  And Then,  Muttering Another "So Long,"

Passed Out Of The Door.

 

Hugh Was More Confused Than Ever And Grew Steadily More Confused As The

Days Passed. He Couldn't Understand Why Slade,  Frankly Unchaste Himself,

Should Consider His Chastity So Important. He Was Genuinely Glad That

Slade Had Rescued Him,  Genuinely Grateful,  But His Confusion About All

Things Sexual Was More Confounded. The Strangest Thing Was That When He

Told Carl About Slade's Talk,  Carl Seemed To Understand Perfectly,

Though He Never Offered A Satisfactory Explanation.

 

"I Know How He Feels," Carl Said,