"That's all right. I'm cutting down, anyway." Bob put his cigarette away. He laughed, as a curbstone orator began to shout from a far corner of the Square. "They're all out tonight."

"Who?" asked the boy.

"The denizens. The proletariat. Don't you know this place?" asked Bob. The boy shook his head. "I'm from out of town."

"Staying long?" asked Bob.

"Longer than I figured," the boy said wryly. "I just missed my bus."

"I'm sort of waiting around myself," said Bob. "Shall we wait together?" "It'll be quite a wait for me," said the boy. "It was to Los Arboles. There's not another one till tomorrow."

"I'm sorry," said Bob, and his heart was beating faster. "Anyway, that gives us plenty of time for a drink, if you'll have one with me. Or maybe you're under the age-"

"Me?" The boy looked faintly annoyed. "I'm twenty-three!"

"Well, then-"

Bob led the way across the street. The bartender checked the boy's identification. He was twenty-three.

They had one round of drinks, and Bob ordered another.

"I-I can't let you pay for any more," said the boy. "I haven't got enough

money to-

"It's all right," said Bob. "I invited you."

"I know, but I'd better get on my way. I'm sort of beat right now."

"You have friends in town?"

"No," said the boy. "I'll sit in the bus station."

"And sleep on a bench all night? Man, you can't do that," said Bob, and he heard himself saying something he had never said before, "I've got a place. I'll put you up.

"That's awfully nice of you," said the boy, "but I'd be in the way-" "Plenty of room," said Bob, "and there'd be no one but us."

and for the drink." His throat was dry. He

"Well, no. But thanks for spending the time with me He's going. I'll never see him again, thought Bob. was ready to plead. He managed to speak steadily. "Maybe you have some reason not to trust me."

"Oh, no!" said the boy.

"Then come on." And Bob took his arm and propelled him lightly but firmly toward the car-stop.

In the car they introduced themselves. The boy's name was Walter Nord. He was from Minnesota and he'd gone to Los Arboles because a friend of his was there. He was trying to find work and he'd come into the city to answer an ad, but nothing had come of it.

Bob looked at him-the weary face, the smoky eyes, the cheeks shadowed with a gold stubble. It's happened to me, he thought. God help me, it's happened . .

He showed Walter the spare bedroom and the bath, and he laid out a robe for him.

In his own room, he undressed and got into pajamas and slippers. Sitting by the window, he smoked a cigarette and looked out into the spring night. It was strange, hearing someone else in the house again. The walls seemed to come alive. He felt a kind of exultation, yet he was afraid.