hood playground. They were inseparable. Even after the Hartleys had moved from Newport News out to Warwick, the boys would commute by bus or bicycle to each other's home, and that soon became unnecessary when the Leveridges themselves moved out to Warwick. The boys attended grade school and high school together, took the same courses, doubledated with the same girls, and chose to attend the same college. They had chosen Dartmouth.

Each week Mr. and Mrs. Hartley would receive one of Glenn's good long newsy letters, which always contained much mention of Rick: how he and Rick enjoyed their double in Richardson Hall; how Rick had received a bid from Zeta Psi and Glenn had not, while Glenn had received a bid from SAE and Rick had not, and so they'd decided not to join any fraternity (that decision had bothered Mr. Hartley, a good SA E man), and how they were both developing ambitions for the legal life. The ambitions held, and after graduation from Dartmouth, the boys entered the Columbia school of Law where they studied for three years. It was after those three years that the boys started going in different directions, although they did remain in New York and share the same apartment on the East Side. Glenn became a junior partner for a new vigorous legal firm, while Rick became a salaried consultant for an insurance company. Mrs. Hartley had always wanted to go to New York to see them, but she had been tied down by one thing or another in Newport News: her husband's death, the time-consuming task of managing his estate, her presidency of the Women's League, and other matters. During those years Mrs. Hartley had seen Glenn only once-ages ago it seemed, and that was during the frantic ordeal of Mr. Hartley's funeral. Only recently had she found herself, for the first time in her adult life, without anything important to do. She had finally resolved to visit Glenn at the end of summer when, yesterday morning, she had received a long-distance phone call from her son. What he said had given her a great shock. He was coming home. He had given up his practice and was leaving New York for good. Why? He wouldn't say over the phone. "But what about Rick?" Mrs. Hartley had asked. It seemed that Rick was staying behind. Glenn's voice had had an unusual matter-offactness about it, and Mrs. Hartley had listened for some clue, some indication...

"He' come de train," the negro girl announced. Mrs. Hartley looked down the tracks. Sure enough, the train was coming. A small crowd had gathered on the platform, and now they moved out from beneath its shade over to the place where the passengers would alight. Mrs. Hartley could feel her excitement mounting as she accompanied them.

As the train ground and clattered to a stop, Mrs. Hartley scanned the

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windows for Glenn's face, but it was not to be found. Anxiously, she watched the passengers as they filed out, and was beginning to think that Glenn must have been delayed when she felt someone squeezing her arm. She turned around. It was Glenn.

"See how sneaky I've gotten?" he said, grinning.

"Why Glenn! You should be spanked, surprising me like that."

He dropped his suitcase and they embraced. When he picked up his suitcase again, she had her first good, look at him in over two years. He was different-much more so than she had expected. His hair was thinner, he was wearing glasses, and the skin on his angular face had become dry and slack, as though he had just recovered from a serious illness. "Your old room is all fixed up," Mrs, Hartley said, as they slowly made their way towards the stations house. "Yesterday was Mildred's day off. I had to beg and bribe her to come over and help me get ready."

"Good old Mildred. I'll make it a point to be extra nice to her for the the first few days."

"She'll be glad to see you," Mrs. Hartley said. She nodded at someone she knew, then continued, "Do you want to check at the baggage room to see if your trunk has arrived? I'm sure it hasn't, not if you sent it yesterday. You'd better be prepared to rough it for the rest of the week." "I think I will check," Glenn said. He did, and Mrs. Hartley's prediction proved correct. "That just goes to show-Mon knows," he said. They went outside, climbed into a cab and gave the driver their address on James River Drive.

"Gosh sakes, what heat!" Glenn said. "I'm glad you had the common sense not to drive down yourself."

"I guess you New Yorkers are getting a fair share, too," said Mrs. Hartley.

"Yes. Yes indeed."

"Oh, by the way, did you know that Mahlon Phelps has become engaged to a girl from Petersburg? I mentioned it in my last letter, which I sent two days ago. It probably missed you."

"It did. So old Mahlon has finally taken the fatal step, huh? What date have they set for the marriage?"

"Sometime in October, and what a blessing. A wedding where everybody won't be boiled to death after the first ten minutes."

"Yes. Lord, I'd forgotten how grueling those summer weddings could

be."

"And haven't there been a lot of them this summer!" said Mrs. Hartley, getting onto her favorite topic. "Bob Lambert and Beverly Ann Osbourne, Troy Gardner and Winnie Dirksen. The Gardners were so unhappy that