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pint of booze. He didn’t take it kindly that nobody opened up.”
    She said: “He never bothered us.”
    “Honey, I love you, and we led a right kind of life. But Duke might remember that the help sometimes don’t. They’re scared, with reason. That explain it, Duke?”
    “I guess so. Thanks.”
    Outside, more cars drove up, and I spotted a middle-aged couple that looked like Bill and his sister. Everyone out there looked sensible, and Bill did, and Marge. The sun was shining bright and traffic running heavy. And yet, after all that was said, and especially this last, I kept thinking, as I paid, of what Mrs. Val had said, that day by the tree, about a “tragic land.” Maybe it was all redeemed, and maybe a few hits weren’t.

CHAPTER VI
    T HEY COACHED AS TO what I should say, about the tractors I was supposed to be parking, the bus I was due to take, and so on, then dropped me off at Clinton, I’d say at six thirty. I found a place to eat, fooled around, and then, around dark, strolled up the road, to see if the party was over and I could come bustling in. The house was all lit up, but not many people seemed to be left that I could see, so I came on up the drive, ready to reverse gears if anything developed. It did, right at my feet, on a small headwall over a pipe that drained a low place in the grass. It was Bill, still in his light gray suit, and sounding slightly drunk. He said: “Duke, hold it, stop. Is that you? Whyncha say something?”
    “Yeah. Sure. Hello.”
    “Siddown. ’M in a spot.”
    “What you do, swing on someone?”
    “Chrisalminey, cut the comedy.”
    “Pal, what’s the trouble?”
    “F’ got stuff ’m to get.”
    “Stuff? What stuff?”
    “F’ her. F’ Holly. ’S happened, Duke, ’t last. Ankles cracked up, but bad. All swell up, jus’ awful. ’S been coming, he knew ’t was coming, ’n he would give a goddam party. ’N doctor, he’s giv’n one too, so fat chance he would come. But he give orders. He said soak’m. Soak’m in some kind stuff f’m drugstore, ’n Marge sent me, get it. ’N f’got what ’t was. ’M parked on road, ’n f’got. Look, Duke, y’ go in, start talk’n t’ Marge, ’n find out—”
    “Listen, pal, was it Epsom?”
    “Chrisalminey, that’s it! Aw, pal! ”
    “Come on, Bill, we got to hurry.”
    “Yeah, but firs’ mus’ thank you.”
    “Come on now, and I’ll drive.”
    His car was on 5, where he’d walked back from it, and while he was finding the key, three or four taxis passed, all lit up like Christmas trees, and turned into the drive. He said: “Homer blew, ’count of Booth. Took keys with ’m, so lot a people got to use cabs. Good thing. Damn Congressmen, tighter’n a tick.”
    “Kid, we got to hurry. On ankles like that you can’t waste any time. The bigger they swell, the more she’s in agony.”
    “Got keys. I’ my hand. Now.”
    I took them, loaded him in, started, and headed for town. He said he was drunk, and to head him off from talking. I did, for maybe a mile. Then: “’E’s lower’n a worm, Duke. How could she marry ’at slug?”
    “If she likes him, O.K.”
    “Him? She likes what ’e’s got.”
    “Watch it, fellow, you’re tight.”
    What he seemed to be saying made me sick, and I wished he’d shut up. He said. “She likes ’is grub .”
    “ ... She likes grub, period.”
    “You got that much grub, Duke?”
    “No, have you?”
    “He has. Period.”
    He quieted down, but then was off again: “Duke, if he wan’ Holly, like man wan’ woman, I might shoot th’ bassid, but respect’m, li’l bit. But whatch say, Duke, jerk don’ wan’ her on’y wan’ her blood .”
    “You mean, he drinks it?”
    “I mean, she’s a Hollis! ”
    “And Hollises, they’re hot stuff?”
    “Y’ goddam right.”
    “Aren’t you a Hollis?”
    “Yop. ’M hot stuff too. Why, y’ poor Nevada rat, they come ’n Ark ’n Dove . ’A’s hot’s y’ c’n get.”
    “The ark I heard of, and the