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kept her laughing most of the way. When they arrived at the Municipal Auditorium it was packed, as they had expected. Shoving their way through the crowd, Mark muttered, “Not exactly what I expected. We look out of place here.”
    Prue had already discovered that. She looked vainly for others wearing nice, sensible clothing, but several of the teens looked like what had come to be called “Hippies.” Most of them, boys and girls, wore T-shirts with various signs or symbols on them, some of them downright vulgar; blue jeans, either skin tight or sometimes exceptionally baggy; and penny loafers.
    â€œWell, I guess this is the rock-and-roll crowd,” Mark said, shaking his head. “They look pretty bad to me. Some of them need to take a bath.”
    Prue nodded, but before she could speak the program began. An emcee came out and introduced an act that proved to be loud: four men who could jump around the stage expertly while playing guitars. The lyrics were familiar, some of them, for most rock performers latched on to current hits. Prue settled down with Mark, aware that his arm was touching hers and of his pleasant cologne. It felt good that she didn’t have to slump as she did with most boys to try to be shorter, and despite her distaste for some of the music, she enjoyed herself.
    Finally Bobby Stuart came on. Prue knew him, of course, for he came to the Stuart family reunions, but he had not been there for the past two years, and he had changed. His auburn hair was longer, his blue-green eyes seemed almost electric, and his handsome face was rougher. It was not his looks alone, but something about his presence that came across. He sometimes stood at the piano and played standing up, his left hand pounding a steady beat while the fingers of his right hand flew over the keyboard. His hair fell in his face, and he moved his shoulders to the rhythm as the house went wild.
    Mark watched, with shock, as the crowd seemed to lose all semblance of sanity, mostly young women who screamed and threw their arms around wildly. It interested him, but he raised his voice, and putting his head close to Prue’s ear, said, “I hope you don’t go into a fit like that.”
    Aware of his lips almost touching her face, Prue shook her head. “I don’t think there’s any danger. They all act like maniacs. Bobby can sing and play, but they act like he’s a god of some kind.”
    That was the impression that both of them got. There was idolatry in the wave of adulation that swept through the auditorium, and when the act was over, several young girls broke through the guards and came pulling at Bobby, trying to tear his clothing off apparently.
    â€œCome on,” Mark said, standing up. “We’re going back to see your kinfolk.”
    Staring at him, Prue shook her head. “They’d never let us in.”
    â€œThat’s what you think. Just stick with me, Prudence.”
    Mark’s confidence was not unfounded, for after most of the fans had filtered away, he accosted a local policeman, saying, “Go tell Bobby his cousin is out here. Prudence Deforge.”
    It worked, somehow, and they were permitted to go back to Bobby’s dressing room. He had taken off his coat and was removing his makeup when they came in. His eyes lit up when he saw Prudence, and he jumped up immediately. “Hey, this is great! Why didn’t you come earlier? We could’ve gone out together.”
    â€œWe didn’t want to bother you, Bobby,” Prue said. “This is Mark Stevens, and I guess you remember me.”
    Bobby shook Mark’s hand, then turned to Prue. “No, I don’t remember you,” he said. When Prudence looked disappointed, he grinned and said, “I remember a skinny, little girl with some kind of weird bangs, but this is another story.” He put his arms around her and said, “You done growed up on me, Prudence.” He kissed her on