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ALLAN SEAGER

Mr. Maury Brown selected a tie from the rack beside the bureau, threw it around his throat, and knotted it meticulously. Then he took hold of his neck, first one side and then the other, and pulled it out of his collar. He had watched all the college men who had come back home from Sewanee and Virginia for the summer, and they wore their shirt collars low enough for their coats to cover them in back. A white line of shirt above the coat at the hack of one's neck was an offense against the mode. Next he put on a linen coal and buttoned it up tightly. It was very hot; even the sparrows were quiet in the magnolia beyond the window, hut "the) wore their coats buttoned up, and it never occurred to him not to suffer.

His touched Ids shining hair a last time with the comb, and examined his image in the glass. At seventeen, no one's face has settled into any firmness, but he thought that he might he handsome, by his junior year, with any luck at all. He was very tall, narrow, and not very thick through, hut he hoped to gain ten pounds sometime before football season, and perhaps make the freshman team at Washington & Lee as a rangy end. He picked up his wallet, his watch, and a handkerchief from the bureau top, rolled his shoulders forward once to keep his coat collar riding high, and clattered down the stairs.

His family were having their month down on the Gulf shore, and they had left him the ear. As lie got into it, Leota, the cook, ran out into the drive. "Mist Maury, she called, "you gonna be home f suppah?

"Nope. Going to Willie Sue Hunt s open house. '

He made the motor roar, skidded the car as it left the drive and, with extreme nonchalance, he drove very fast to the Bus) Bee drug store. He put on the brakes, the tires squealed; and he climbed languidly out of the car. Three other youths were propped against the side of the Busy Bee. He walked up very slowly.

"Hi, y'all."

"Hi, Maury. Going to Willie Sue's?" they asked.

"I might get around there. Can't tell yet, he answered.

They went inside and drank CocaColas, and, after a few remarks, began a conversation dealing with Gentlemen. George Papadoulos, who ran the Busy Bee, was not a Gentleman but he knew exactly what Gentlemen were, since he had heard them defined so many times before. A Gentleman was a man, preferably a young man, who led a romantic kind of life. His family did not count. They might have settled between the York and the James Rivers in the 17th Century, and his grandfather might have ridden out with Mosby in a yellow sash and a hat with a feather, hut if the man himself lived in a quiet, tidy way, the accolade was denied him.

"J. T. Parker? He only plays tennis, and he never made anything at Charlottesvull. and he swore he got a written bid from the Betas 'fore he ever left town."

Maury drank four cokes and looked at his watch.

"Hay, y'all, I got to he moving."

"Give us a lift to Willie Sue s."

"I got to stop by my house first." he said.

When they reached his house. Maui) went in, wet his hair again, combed it again, and rolled his shoulders. There was no other reason why he had come hack home again, except to show his friends that he was not so eager to get to Willie Sue's as he really was.

They drove off again rapidly, as if they were an ambulance crew, and stopped with a screech of rubber at Willie Sue's. They crossed the lawn and went up the steps. Willie Sue. a tall level) girl with yellow hair and brown eyes, met them at the door.

"Hi, Maury. Hi, Bob. Hi, C. M. Hi. Preston. I sure am glad to set' you. Y'all come on in.

They entered, like automatons, still and awkward. The house was full of young people, engaged in talk too indirect to be called flirtation. Two Negro maids kept filling a sideboard with sandwiches and lemonade. Occasionally a couple got up and danced to phonograph music.

Immediately Maury felt himself defeated because lie saw Willie Sue return to a divan to sit beside Banks Battle. Banks Battle was a gentleman of the first rank, and he was obviously Willie Sue's date for the open house, lie was a Kappa Alpha at Charlottesville; he had pitched a no-hit game for the Virginia freshmen not two months before. And he had not deigned to wear the linen or seersucker clothes like the others, hut smart grey flannels, which everyone said he had bought in New 't ork. He had an assurance and an ease of manner which Maury felt were almost godlike, and he used slang that none of them had heard before.

Maury was stuck on a chair beside the door, and he did not dare cross the room because he sometimes knocked things over —small things like side tables, which appeared suddenly in his path too late for him to avoid them. And he could not think of anything brilliant to say to Willie Sue, if he arrived successfully at the divan.

It was very necessary that she fall in love with him before he left for college. She was the prettiest girl in town, and, for the sake of his caste, he had to take her to the Thanksgiving dances. When he had made a fraternity, and played end for the freshman team—(The coach would say, "Brown, they're coming around left end like water through a sieve. It's up to you." He threw off his blanket, ran up and down a moment, jerking his knees high, and then went in. He told a worried quarter-back what play to use, and, as the ball snapped back, he lit out down the field, head low, driving hard. Then he slowed down warily and waited for the pass, and, when it came, he leaped up gracefully and swept it to his breast. He ran a little ring around the safety man, and loped easily over the goal line, while the crowd cheered.) He looked down at his thin wrists miserably, and then at Banks Battle dancing adroitly with Sally Barnett, who had spent the winter in New York. Willie Sue was talking only to girls.

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Maury rose and walked carefully across the room.

"Hi. Willie Sue. Sure is a nice open house," he muttered gloomily.

"Hi, Maury. How come you look so sad?" She looked up at him.

"'reckon it's this heat." Then he used what seemed to him guile, painfully, fearing it would fail, "Went to walk out on the porch?"

She glanced at Banks and Sally, gauged quickly that it was the beginning of the phonograph record, and said, "Sure do." They sat down on a swing full of pillows behind a climbing honeysuckle. "Willie Sue, you got a date?" he asked.

"Certainly I got a date. Banks Bat-tie's my my date," date, she said proudly.

"I don't mean now. I mean later, after they all go home."

"That'll He late, about eleven o'clock. I don't know as I ought to."

Desperately, cursing his own ineptitude, lie begged, "Can I come hack then?"

"Oh, I reckon," she said.

"Be seeing you at eleven, Willie Sue," he rose confidently, as if more important matters called him, "I got to he moving."

He left Willie Sue's and went at once to a pool room and bought, from an Italian, a half pint of corn liquor. He drove out to the edge of town, down a side road, and stopped beside a cotton field. Beyond it, the gum trees were beginning to turn a dull red. He pulled the cork from the bottle, and set his throat. The white whiskey poured down. He braced himself against coughing, pulled heavily on a cigarette, and presently brushed away the tears that ran down his cheeks. He didn't cough any more; that was something. But he'd have to learn not to cry.

Timing his drinks one to the half hour, he sal and planned his career at college. His father had been a Phi Psi at W & L, and they would take him as a legacy, so the fraternity hardly was a problem. As for the football, he was light, even for an end—here he pulled up his trousers and surveyed his legs. He would go into training tomorrow—run five miles every morning, maybe, and eat eggs.

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Things were looking pretty good, and in his mind he began to see himself as the very pattern of romance . . . an All-American end in his sophomore year, with twelve suits of clothes, and a different girl, different but very beautiful, for each year's dances, perhaps even Yankee girls down from New York or Boston.

The moon had come up, and the trees looked black against the sky. Maury looked at his watch. It was ten minutes to eleven, He stuffed half a package of mints in his mouth, and turned the car to go to Willie Sue's.

Her house was dark as he drove up. But as he crossed the lawn, he heard the steady creaking of the porch swing. He rolled his shoulders once and called out, "Evenin', honey."

"Hi, Maury. I thought you'd gone off and forgot me."

"Couldn't no more forget you than I could forget my right hand. Why, you're the most beautiful thing since Martha Washington. Just ain't nobody like you, Willie Sue." He stopped abruptly. He was a little drunker than he had intended.

"You're sweet, Maury."

He lighted a cigarette for her, and began to think heatedly and quickly. If he asked her up for the Thanksgiving Dances now, maybe he would not make the freshman team, and then she would scorn him. Perhaps he had better wait until October.

He was absorbed in this way. when Banks Battle came wavering up the steps. He was very drunk.

"Evenin', Willie Sue. I know you're there. Evenin' to you, sir, I can't see your face and I don't want to."

"Why, you know Maury Brown, Banks," said Willie Sue.

"Evenin', Mr. Brown, you certainly are welcome to sit here on my date."

Maury began to sweat. It was clear that Banks was picking a fight just to show off before Willie Sue.

Banks said in a voice of false courtesy, "How you feelin, Millie Sue?"

"Why, I'm fine, Banks."

"And you, Mr. Brown, how you feel?"

"Okay," said Maury, afraid to commit himself further.

"Well, I am feelin' mighty good this evenin'. In fact, I can't remember when I felt any better," He flexed his arms slowly out to the side.

Maury began to see that there was no escape. He was terribly afraid of Banks Battle, and He knew that all this ominous, formal talk was leading to just one thing—the moment when Banks Battle, suave and assured, would take him down off the porch and bust him a couple in the jaw. And then Willie Sue would despise him for getting licked. When he realized that Willie Sue would hate him for a weakling. he took heart and tried to think how He could make a fight of it.

"Yes, sir," said Banks in the silence, "I feel so good I could step about six rounds with somebody. I hat is, with a heavy condescension, "if there was anyone here who would step with me."

The gage had been flung, and Maury took out his handkerchief and began to wind it slowly around his knuckles. He had heard that it was the tiling to do in a bare fist fight.

"Why, Mr. Battle," Maury said with the formality of the occasion, "I don't guess you remembered I'm here. I'll he glad to accommodate you."

They stood up.

"I hope you'll excuse us a moment," said Maury politely.

Punctilio demanded that no blows be struck until they were off the porch, else they would he fighting in the presence of a lady. As soon as they reached the lawn, Maury swung his right fist in a long roundhouse swing. Somewhat unsteadily, Banks was moving to the attack in the open classic style, and the fist took him on the ear and knocked him over. He got up at once and began to wave his arms expertly, and to snort through his nose. It was very impressive, and, chilled with fear, Maury ducked his head and swung both hands, and landed surprisingly on the nose and body. Banks went down and stayed there. When Maury saw his foe twitching on the grass, the great Banks Battle, the costly flannels stained, and sounds like sobs arising, all his petty college ambitions vanished. He was like a knight before Crecy or Poitiers who acquired all the victories of a vanquished foe as soon as he was beaten. He had beaten Banks Battle and all he stood for. For him was reserved a destiny, lonelier, more distant. For an instant he had a vision of himself, clad in leather chaps and boots, twirling a forty-five, a high Stetson hat with the brim blown back, astride a mustang— hut he rejected this immediately as childish. There weren't any cowboys like that now. In its place he saw himself, bronzed, lean, scarred with fever, but steeled with an awful calm, motioning his beaters away while he faced the jungle danger alone.

Leaving Banks snuffling, Maury sauntered across the lawn, unwinding the handkerchief from his knuckles. At the porch steps He paused, and dusted his shoes with it elegantly. Then he took Willie Sue in his arms with bland poise, and kissed her briefly and sadly, "Good-night, sweet,—and good-bye." The astonished Millie Sue sat down heavily in the swing.

Maury drove the car slowly to the Busy Bee. There were two youths leaning on the soda fountain.

"Hi. Maury."

"Good evening, gentlemen," he said with a spacious air.

"We just been talkin'—When you going to W & L—sometime early?"

"I am not going to college.' He looked into his coke. "Never."

"For God's sakes, why not?

"I am going to South America," He said.

He pushed the brim of his straw hat—a pith helmet, it seemed to him —down over his eyes, and, his steps portraying (he hoped) his loneliness and calm bravery, he walked slowly out into the flight.