"Yes, I know," said Tom, a bit nervously, it seemed. He wore glasses as though he had elected to wear them. Nevertheless, Swanson had to admit to himself the boy was good looking. But they all are, he thought, and even as he thought it he wondered exactly who "they" were.

"Kendall should... ah

watch. "Confound that boy

be along any minute now." He glanced at his

went out for cigarettes more than half an hour ago. You modern college people, always on the move... ah... oblivious of everything." He grated his throat, cleared his nose.

Plenty of time for grim time for grim reality," Tom laughed.

Swanson's antennae were out and though he had to strain for that part of the laughter that betrayed the homosexual, he felt sure he was able to when the laughter subsided and that part of it managed to ring clear in Swanson's mind. "This is This is . . . ah Mrs, Swanson, Tom. You should . . . ah...

along famously."

get

After the usual exchange of greetings, Mrs. Swanson asked Tom if he had eaten. "Yes, ma'am, indeed I have."

Indeed I have! mocked the words in Swanson's mind, like thumb to nose. "Tell me," Swanson said, "ah. how do you like college?"

"A fine place for learning, sir," Tom said and laughed so hard at his

joke that Swanson could FEEL the innuendo.

"It's nothing like the good old days," Swanson said, watching the boy relentlessly. "Used to have a hell of a time." (He thought he'd rough it up a little, shock the little delicate.) "Take those damned crazy racoon coats we used to wear. Everybody wore them. Today most of the boys wouldn't be caught dead in one." He watched the boy shift from one foot to the other. His hands were clasped before him. "Ah... sit down, sit down, Tom."

"Racoon coats would be a panic," Tom said as he took to Swanson's suggestion. "They'll come back again, no doubt about it. After all, look at all the female fads that've come back from the gay twenties."

Swanson wondered if the boy thought him a fool. He poured himself a drink. It was NOT to steady his nerves, he told himself. "Ah... drink?" Swanson said, suppressing the urge to throw it at the boy, decanter and all. "Never touch it, thanks," Tom said, "only at parties, and THEN only as a mouth wash to smell like the others."

"Yes, like the others," Swanson muttered. "Too . ah... strong for you?" Swanson hoped his affront had not gone unnoticed.

"Not that, sir," Tom said. "That is, not exactly. You see, I've got a kidney condition, and ..."

"Confound . . . where IS that boy!" And confound this pretty-boy-floy. He knew it wasn't Kendall by the sound of the chimes that followed this thought, because Ken carried his own key.

"Mr. Tom, Mr. Swanson," said the maid presently, leaving to their bewilderment a tall, bronze-looking fellow with a boyish grin.

"Hi," he said, "I'm Tom."

Good God, thought Swanson as he approached the boy, hand outstretched, a smile artfully hiding his distress. He was not comforted by the friendly hand pressure vigorously given him. "Of course, of course, we've been expecting you, son." Thomas Hamilton II, he thought, but why NOW? "Delighted to have you. This is Mrs. Swanson. Mrs. Swanson, this is Tom. You know." There was a pause where a wink might have fitted if none but Mrs. Swanson would have seen. "The young fellow I told you about," he said. "Ah... drink, Tom?"

"Could use one, Mr. Swanson, pretty chilly outside."

"Sure," Swanson said, "do you good. . . put hair on your chest." He

hoped as he said it that the other boy got the implication.

"Dear..." Mrs. Swanson called from the vestibule to which she'd retired a moment before. Swanson mixed the drink carefully, excused himself and went out to Mrs. Swanson. "Yes?"

one