Nelson started the engine and began to back the car out from between the white lines on the blacktop.

"Okay," he said. "Have to return some books to the library for my mother first."

Reece grunted and sat up, made uneasy by the maneuvering Nelson had to do to get the car out of the parking lot. He blinked in the bright sun glare on the paving as they rolled into Nevada street, and he gave an occasional low whistle as they passed girls in bright summer clothes. Since this evoked grins from Nelson and an occasional lecherous witticism he continued it for blocks. "There's Nickerson," Nelson said.

Reece groaned, and when Nelson slowed the car and steered toward the curb, he asked, “What the hell are you doing?"

"Ask him where he's going," Nelson said.

"I don't care where he's going," Reece said, then winced as Nelson gave a blast on the horn and shouted past his ear:

"Hey, Nickerson, want a ride?"

Frowning, Bob stood uncertain for a moment on the sidewalk in front of the sundazzled glass of a drugstore, then came slowly trotting to the car.

"Oh, hi, Dick. I didn't know who it was. Hi, Dave."

Without looking at him, Reece made a soft farting noise with his lips. "Get in," Nelson said. "Where you going?"

Bob fumbled with the door and bumped his head getting into the back seat. He was careful not to slam the door.

"No place. I mean"He shrugged. "Just the library. Nothing else to do." "That's where we're going." Nelson watched the rearview mirror and steered out into traffic again. "We'll take you."

No one spoke for a moment. A jazz quartette made thin, halting sounds through the radio. They paused for a stop signal. An old woman hobbled across in front of them dragging a wooden shopping cart with squeaky red wheels.

"What are you going to do there?"

"Return those books." Nelson jerked his head.

"Huh?" Bob glanced around blankly. The books were a drab stack in the seat corner. He touched them and laughed feebly. "Oh-oh, sure. Guess I didn't notice them."

"Well, imagine that," Reece said. "Tee-hee-hee."

The signal showed green. Nelson drove on.

"What do you do so much at the library?" Reece asked.

"Read, look at art books . . . It's very interesting, the library. And" He chewed his lip a minute, doubtful. Then he said it. "They've got a record department in the music room. Did you know that? Where you can borrow records." Nelson was interested. "I didn't know that."

"Fascinating," cried Reece.

"Yes, it is." Bob sat forward. "I'll show it to you that is, if you—” "No time," Reece said, "no time."

"Anything good there?" Nelson asked.

"Oh, yes," Bob said, "lots of things."

While a dreamily smiling Negro girl checked in Nelson's mother's books at the library counter, Reece, hands in pockets, examined a shelf of new detective stories, and Bob, anxiously smiling, hovered near Nelson. The errand accomplished, he clutched his arm and hurried him away while Reece with an air of suffering resignation slouched after them. They passed through silent, high-

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