That's all very well--if not good. But it would never explain my dedazzlement with the construction worker. Understand, now. I'm not a panty-waist. I'm near six feet, of good solid Dutch-American construction. Girls and guys look at me going down the street--and I get a lot of eyes I don't know what to do with. Sure--I don't make a display like some boys I see in tight pants but I've got a right to be proud. But this thing had me spooked. I hung around my window like a sixteen-year-old girl with the green sickness, and once in a while that Brahma Bull would look up, see me, spit and put a brogan to his spade, swinging the bite of sand up with ease. And I ached with frustration.

One day my landlady knocked and came in with fresh linen for my bed. Guess she knew I was thinking dirty--for she said: "We got a new girl in the house. You--bein' on the night desk--don't interfere--unless she brings in a drunk to roll. I don't allow that, You can get a special rate-if you want."

I gulped and thanked her--no thanks, saying I wanted to keep myself clean--or some silly thing. She smirked and said she admired such a nice young man...'

Well...there you have it. I was fit to be fried. So one day I went out and joined the sidewalk gawkers. And when noon boomed from a nearby clock tower My boy put on his shirt, stuffed the tail in his pants and went into a beanery. I followed and sat next to him at the counter. He ordered a huge meal without looking at the greasy menu, turned and looked at me and grinned. "Well, hello--perfesser!" he said. "Make up your mind?"

I gulped and I think I turned purple. It felt like it. "How...how in Tunket...."

"How in hell do I know who you are? Look, fella, you've been breathin' down my neck for nearly a month. And anyways, Ma Ferguson--your Madam Landlady--told me who you were when I asked. She came out special to drop a word about the new girl."

"You...asked about me?" I asked the waitress for a hamburger and coffee, and stared at him.

"Sure. It's a free country, ain't it? You sit in your window by the hour, giving me the eye. So I got a right as a private citizen to know who's lookin' at me, ain't I?" "Was it so ...obvious?" I felt my ears turn red. "Hell...don't be embarrassed!" he chuckled. “Oh yeah.

mattachine REVIEW

Guess I'd better tell you. I'm buildin' muscle for the fall football season. I'm a senior at St. Marys.'

"Well, I'll be go to....!"

"Go to hell!" he said agreeably. "Spit it out like a man. I hear you're going to teach there. Sorry I can't enroll for any of your classes. I'm taking a degree in Math and Engineering. Ain't got time to mess with Belly Letters.'

Our food came and he dug into his with evident hunger "Tell me," he said softly, looking at me quizzically "you serious about me?"

I strangled on my coffee and grabbed for a paper napkin, whooping. He banged my back..

"Don't take it so hard!" he chuckled. "Nothin's changed. You ain't been insulted--and if I said somehin' you didn't want to hear--you didn't hear it.”

"Jesus Christ!" I muttered, taking a swig from my water glass, "it's what has been pestering me for amonth. It's just--well--I don't know how to handle this kind of thing."

"Neither do I," he said, pushing back his empty plate and gulping his coffee. He threw some change on the counter "For both of us," he said to the waitress.

When we were outside he laughed. “Look," he said--“you look like a startled virgin. I got to get back to the excava tion. I got a bachelor apartment not far from here. I wouldn't give Ma Ferguson farting room--hanging around outside your door. This is my address. I get home about six. Cleaned up by seven. Give you a steak and potato with garlic salad and coffee. If you ain't fancy. But this you've got to know. I've watched you--almost as much as you've watched me. Don't come with any puny moral reservations--or gutless ideas. If you do--out you go on your ass. I ain't up for grabs or silly games. I'm, a one track guy. You think about it this afternoon. If you're not there--I'll know it's not for you. No fuss, no bother. But if it's not for you--please don't watch me any more. That a deal?"

He offered a calloused hand. I took it in a daze. This man walked too fast for me. He winked, grinned, turned away toward his tools and I stumbled up the stairs to my room. Fortunately my night turn on the desk was from twelve to eight--so if I went to his apartment....who in hell was he? I turned and raced down the stairs, stumbling over gear until I reached the trench where he was digging. “Look,!” I said, "I don't know your name!"