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fatter than before； but the dreamy smile on his face was just
the same。 Singer had some packages in his arms and the big
Greek gave them his first attention。 His presents were a scarlet
dressing…gown； soft bedroom slippers； and two monogrammed
nightshirts。 Antonapoulos looked beneath all the tissue papers
in the boxes very carefully。 When he saw that nothing good to
eat had been concealed there； he dumped the gifts disdainfully
on his bed and did not bother with them any more。
The room was large and sunny。 Several beds were spaced in a
row together。 Three old men played a game of slapjack in a
corner。 They did not notice Singer or Antonapoulos； and the
two friends sat alone on the other side of the room。
It seemed to Singer that years had passed since they had been
together。 There was so much to say that his80
hands could not shape the signs with speed enough。 His green
eyes burned and sweat glittered on his forehead。 The old
feeling of gaiety and bliss was so quick in him again that he
could not control himself。
Antonapoulos kept his dark； oily eyes on his friend and did
not move。 His hands fumbled languidly with the crotch of his
trousers。 Singer told him； among other things； about the
visitors who had been coming to see him。 He told his friend
that they helped take his mind away from his lonesomeness。
He told Antonapoulos that they were strange people and
always talking—but that he liked to have them come。 He drew
quick sketches of Jake Blount and Mick and Doctor Copeland。
Then as soon as he saw mat Antonapoulos was not interested
Singer crumpled the sketches and forgot about them。 When
the attendant came in to say that their time was up； Singer had
not finished half of the things he wanted to say。 But he left the
room very tired and happy。
The patients could receive their friends only on Thursday and
Sunday。 On the days when he could not be with
Antonapoulos； Singer walked up and down in his room at the
hotel。
His second visit to his friend was like the first； except that the
old men in the room watched them listlessly and did not play
slapjack。
After much trouble Singer obtained permission to take
Antonapoulos out with him for a few hours。 He planned each
detail of the little excursion in advance。 They drove out into
the country in a taxi； and then at four…thirty they went to the
dining…room at the hotel。 Antonapoulos greatly enjoyed his
extra meal。 He ordered half the dishes on the menu and ate
very greedily。 But when he had finished he would not leave。
He held to the table。 Singer coaxed him and the cab driver
wanted to use force。 Antonapoulos sat stolidly and made
obscene gestures when they came too close to him。 At last
Singer bought a bottle of whiskey from the hotel manager and
lured him into the taxi again。 When Singer threw the
unopened bottle out of the window Antonapoulos wept with
disappointment and offense。 The end of their little excursion
made Singer very sad。
His next visit was the last one； for his two weeks' vacation
was almost over。 Antonapoulos had forgotten what
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had happened before。 They sat in their same corner of the
room。 The minutes slipped by quickly。 Singer's hands talked
desperately and his narrow face was very pale。 At last it was
time for him to go。 He held his friend by the arm and looked
into his face in the way that he used to do when they parted
each day before work。 Antonapoulos stared at him drowsily
and did not move。 Singer left the room with his hands stuffed
hard into his pockets。
Soon after Singer returned to his room at the boarding…house；
Mick and Jake Blount and Doctor Copeland began to come
again。 Each one of them wanted to know where he had been
and why he had not let them know about his plans。 But Singer
pretended that he did not understand their questions； and his
smile was inscrutable。
One by one they would come to Singer's room to spend the
evening with him。 The mute was always thoughtful and
composed。 His many…tinted gentle eyes were grave as a
sorcerer's。 Mick Kelly and Jake Blount and Doctor Copeland
would come and talk in the silent room—tor they felt that the
mute would always understand whatever they wanted to say to
him。 And maybe even more than that。Part Two
J。 ms summer was different from any other time Mick could
remember。 Nothing much happened that she could describe to
herself in thoughts or words—but there was a feeling of
change。 AH the time she was excited。 In the morning she
couldn't wait to get out of bed and start going for the day。 And
at night she hated like hell to have to sleep again。
Right after breakfast she took the kids out； and except for
meals they were gone most of the day。 A good deal of the time
they just roamed around the streets—with her pulling Ralph's
wagon and Bubber following along behind。 Always she was
busy with thoughts and plans。 Sometimes she would look up
suddenly and they would be way off in some part of town she
didn't even recognize。 And once or twice they ran into Bill on
the streets and she was so busy thinking he had to grab her by
the arm to make her see him。
Early in the mornings it was a little cool and their shadows
stretched out tall on the sidewalk in front of them。 But in the
middle of the day the sky was always blazing hot。 The glare
was so bright it hurt to keep your eyes open。 A lot of times the
plans about the things that were going to happen to her were
mixed up with ice and snow。 Sometimes it was like she was
out in Switzerland and all the mountains were covered with
snow and she was skating on cold； greenish…colored ice。
Mister Singer would be skating with her。 And maybe Carole
Lombard or Ar…turo Toscanini who played on the radio。 They
would be skating together and then Mister Singer would fall
through
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the ice and she would dive in without regard for peril and
swim under the ice and save his life。 That was one of the plans
always going on in her mind。
Usually after they had walked awhile she would park Bubber
and Ralph in some shady place。 Bubber was a swell kid and
she had trained him pretty good。 If she told him not to go out
of hollering distance from Ralph she wouldn't ever find him
shooting marbles with kids two or three blocks away。 He
played by himself near the wagon； and when she left them she
didn't have to worry much。 She either went to the library and
looked at the National Geographic or else just roamed around
and thought some more。 If she had any money she bought a
dope or a Milky Way at Mister Brannon's。 He gave kids a
reduction。 He sold them nickel things for three cents。
But all the time—no matter what she was doing—there was
music。 Sometimes she hummed to herself as she walked； and
other times she listened quietly to the songs inside her。 There
were all kinds of music in her thoughts。 Some she heard over
radios； and some was in her mind already without her ever
having heard it anywhere。
In the night…time； as soon as the kids were in bed； she was
free。 That was the most important time of all。 A lot of thing