shocks played within him, causing the muscles of his arms to grow increasingly tense and his hands on the glass to tremble with concentration. Paul spoke first, making a sweeping gesture with his glass over the table.
"Our first drink together … I hope we shall have many together."
"I hope so too."
"Want a cigarette?"
"Please."
Again Paul handed him a lighted one and asked: "How's the drink?"
"Fine."
"Drink up and we'll have another."
"All right."
Paul was silent awhile, expecting Gaylord to speak, but Gaylord was tongue-tied with all this strange surroundings.
Faces rose through the grey fog like images on pages turning over and over in muddy riverpools. A loud girlish scream came from the bar and echoed in Gaylord's ear. He turned and glanced from where it came just in time to see a tall blond boy throw his arms around another.
"Jack, baby. When did you get in town?" screeched the blond boy to the dark haired one standing at his side.
The incident looked cheap and common to Gaylord. He thought of the times he had thrown his arms around Blake, and wondered about it. Was this really cheap and common? He was guilty too if the blond boy was. The comparison struck him and stayed with him until he was yanked back into the present by another sudden screeching.
"I'm drunk … Yes … ya damn right I'm drunk … but I'm not drunk enough to go home with you, Mary." The youth who had just spoken got up from the table and weaved his way between the aisles. A grey-haired man he had just left watched him.
Gaylord was among people playing strange roles. He seemed to be trying to learn their world. There was no secret to their feelings and still he found the whole pattern too complicated to follow. It was like a circus … too many things happening at the same time.
A low murmur from a side booth caused him to turn again. In a
