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not?" she asked, then turned to Bob. "What IS it?"

    "The Morons' Club." He smiled. God, she's beautiful.
    "Like hell/' said Terry. "It's the football team."
    "Not much difference/' Bob replied.
    The Vassar girl laughed. This enraged the football captain.
    "Beckwith, if you weren't such a fruit cake, I'd destroy you for that stupid witticism."
    "Terry/' interposed one of his sycophants, "the guy was only kidding. Don't make an asshole of yourself 'cause he's an asshole."
    "Yeah," snarled Terry, "but at least take off that tie, Beckwith."
    Bob sensed that this was one demand Terry would not be talked out of. Sweating profusely, he pulled it off and handed it over.
    "See you, Terry," he said. And then, making swift retreat. Bob casually tossed a "Nice meeting you" in the direction of the lovely Vassar girl who had witnessed this horror show.
    The moment he escaped into the coatroom area, Bob tore off his jacket. Thank you, Bernie, for this mortification. Dexter would doubtless never forget it. And you won't get your goddam tie back, either. As Bob was pulling the first of his sweaters over his head, he heard a muffled:
    "Excuse me."
    He peered out. It was the girl.
    "Yes?" said Bob, too surprised to be nervous. He whipped the sweater back down.
    "You forgot something," she said. And in her left hand she held out the football tie.
    "Thank you. I guess I looked pretty stupid wear-ingit"
    "No," she said gently. "I think it was the sweaters that made you look a little weird/'

    <^1
    44 Erkh Segal
    "Oh/' he said. And then, 'Tm just getting over a cold/'
    "Oh," she answered, perhaps beheving him. 'Why d you leave?"
    "I don't function well in mobs."
    'Me either/' she said.
    'You were doing okay."
    'Really? I felt like a piece of meat in a butcher's window."
    "Well, mixers are always like that/'
    "I know," she said.
    "Then why'd you come?" A stupid question. Bob instantly regretted asking it.
    "I was going stir crazy up in Poughkeepsie," she answered. "Besides, can you imagine how depressing it is trying to study on a Saturday night in an all-girls' school?"
    Say something, Beckwith! She asked you a question.
    "Uh—would you like to take a walk?" God, I hope she doesn't think I want to lure her to the room. "Uh—I mean in the courtyard."
    "Good idea/' she said. "It's incredibly stuffy in there."
    As they descended the stone stairway and strolled out into the chilly autumn evening, they introduced themselves.
    "I'm Bob Beckwith. And as you probably can tell, I'm a math major."
    "Are you always so self-deprecating?"
    "Only with girls. I didn't catch your name."
    "Sheila—Sheila Goodhart. And I haven't picked a major yet. Is that okay?"
    "It's terrific, Sheila. It shows intellectual independence." She smiled.
    lliey walked slowly around tlie courtyard. The band was barely audible.

    "This college is so beautiful/' she said. ''It's like another century."
    "Which reminds me," Bob replied, ignoring his non sequitur, "are you busy next weekend?"
    "Yes," she said.
    He was crushed.
    "Oh."
    "I mean with midterms. Fve got to cram. How about the week after?"
    "How about if I came up to Vassar next week and we studied together? I really mean study. Sheila, 'cause I'm a grind and I've got midterms too."
    "Okay, Bob. I'd like that."
    "Great." His heart was pirouetting.
    Half an hour later, he walked her to Chapel Street, where the buses were waiting. Bob was in turmoil. To kiss or not to kiss, that was the question. At length he concluded that it would be best to play it safe. Why risk grossing her out?
    "Well," he said as she was about to board the bus, "I look forward to next weekend. Uh—but I'll call you around the middle of the week. Like—er— maybe Wednesday at eight-fifteen. Okay?"
    "Okay," she said and then, "So long." She turned and darted up the steps.
    He watched her walk toward the back of the bus. She found a seat on his side, sat down and looked out at him. She was gorgeous even through a dirty windowpane.
    He stood transfixed as