them a tour of the city. That Saturday, with several misgivings, he had dialed Hal's number. "Y-e-es...?"

"Oh, hello Hal, this is John ..."

"John... John . . .?" the unctuous voice at the other end of the line had asked, as if knowing a thousand of that name.

R-

"John, John Stewart, from R."

"Well, hel-lo-o John, doll. Of course, now I remember you! How utterly wonderful to hear from you again. Where are you? How's Greg...?" John winced, and almost hung up.

"I'm in town Hal. Greg's not... well, he's not with me. I'll explain later."

"Tut, tut... these things happen, boy." Hal's voice was caressing and world-weary. John cursed the impulse that had taken him to the phone. "I'm giving a party tonight, Johnny boy," Hal was saying. "Come over. There'll be some others here that I think you will know. About ten o'clock. Love to see you!"

"All right," John had said, listlessly. "Thanks, I'll be over. Yes... yes, I still have your address."

He had known, before ever reaching Hal's, what the party would be like. But it would be better than a bar, he thought, or the desolation of home. After a couple of drinks, it would become tolerable. Yet, tonight, by some strange reaction, the more he drank the more remote he felt. Tactfully, Hal had refrained from further mention of Greg, and now, in the crowd and the burlesque. hilarity, John did not want to speak of him. Moreover, he knew that if he did not leave soon, or go to sleep, he might become openly and rudely contemptuous of the entire proceeding. But he was jarred in the middle of these speculations by one called The Dutchess, a muscular, sprawling, thick-lipped youth, who flung himself on the sofa by John's side, an arm around John's neck, and a hand resting casually on his knee.

"You know, I just love the silent type," The Dutchess whispered moistly in John's ear, "they're so mysterious. What are you thinking about, honey?"

"I'm afraid I'm rather bad company tonight, even for myself," John replied a little stiffly, prevented by the arm of the sofa from edging away from his companion.

"Well, I get in that mood once in a while, myself, dearie," confided The Dutchess. "How about another drink, or a dance?"

John eyed the other silently with a look of extreme and unconcealed distaste. Then he settled himself back still further upon the soft, closing his eyes, and trying to withdraw his mind as far as possible from his immediate surroundings. An inner impulse kept prompting him to leave, yet at the same time he remained inert, irresolute. The talk rose and fell. The music blared. Scattered phrases of conversation registered upon his brain.

"Guess what..." someone was saying, "I saw Terry yesterday, and who do you think he was with?"

"Jack's ex-boy-friend, I'll bet."

"Nope, guess again."

"Charlie... Tim...?"

"You're still wrong, bub. He was with Greg . . ." There was a chorus of astonished whistles, but John did not hear them. Greg! GREG! Of course, it was no Greg known to John, yet the name stirred him from his lethargy as if it were magic. Greg! Slowly the memory of Greg-his Gregtook possession of John's mind. Feature by feature the beloved face emerged before his mind's eye, dispelling the stupor of loneliness and desolation which for many months had drugged his thoughts. All at once, as by an electric shock, his inertia vanished, and he leaped into action. Bounding from his seat, he approached his host with strides that shook the floor.

"Excuse me if I seem rude, Hal, but I've got to go. May I get my overcoat, please . . .?" Hal raised his silver eyebrows in polite surprise, as he turned to his unpredictable guest. "Why, John, doll, don't you like my party . . .?"

"Of course, but... well, I forgot about a report I'm to have ready tomorrow morning," John lied feverishly. "I really must go. It's midnight already."

"Sorry, but if you must..." Hal said, with a tinge of incredulity in his voice. "Wish you could stay. We've only begun." By now John had his overcoat on, and with only the briefest nod to the other guests, was striding out the door, The Dutchess gaping peevishly after him.

The next day, John noted, on the Perris Company bulletin board, an announcement that inexperienced draftsmen were needed for the blueprint department. It was work which held considerable promise of advancement into the lucrative engineering field. John decided at once, and arranged an appointment with the Personnel Manager. Of course, he was told, they would give preference to any of their own employees who would undertake their own training. The following week-end, he invested half his savings in drafting equipment which he installed in his rooms, and enrolled in a nightly study course at a metropolitan trade school. He was to have called Hal that Sunday. Twice he took the phone from its cradle, but an invisible hand restrained him from going further.

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