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down to where she was. He leaned down to her, said: “I’m going to kill him first, so you can see him fall, so get over there, right beside him.”
    She spit in his face.
    Where he had me was right in front of the telephone booth, and all the time he was talking I was working the ring off. Now I could slip it up in the empty bulb socket. I pushed and the fuse blew. The place went dark. The juke box stopped with a moan, and I started with a yell. I went straight ahead, not with a one-two this time. I gave it all my weight, and when I hit him he topple over and I heard the breath go out of him. It was dark, but I knew it was him by the smell. First, I got a thumb on his mastoid and heard him scream from the pain. Then I caught his wrist and used my other thumb there. The gun dropped, it hit my foot, it was in my hand. “Mike,” I yelled, “the candle! In the booth! I’ve got his gun! But for Pete’s sake, give us some light!”
    So after about three years Mike found his matches and lit up. While I was waiting I felt her arms come around me and heard her whisper in my ear: “You’ve set me free, do you still want me?”
    â€œYou bet I do!”
    â€œLet’s go to Elkton!”
    So we did, and I’m writing this on the train, stringing it out so I can watch her as she watches mesquite, sage, buttes, and the rest of the West rolling by the window. But I can’t string it out much longer. Except that we’re goof happy, and the old man is throwing handsprings, that’s all.
    Period.
    New Paragraph.
    California, here we come.

Two O’clock Blonde
    M y heart did a throbby flip-flop when the buzzer sounded at last. It was all very well to ask a girl to my hotel suite, but I was new to such stuff, and before this particular girl I could easily look like a hick. It wasn’t as if she’d been just another girl, you understand. She was special, and I was serious about her.
    The trouble was, for what I was up to, man-of-the-world wouldn’t do it. From the girl’s looks, accent, manners, and especially the way she was treated by the other guests, I knew she was class. So I guess ‘gentleman’ would be more like what I was shooting for. Up until now I’d always figured I was one, but then—up until now—I’d never really been called on to prove it.
    I had one last look at my champagne and flowers, riffled the Venetian blind to kill the glare of the sun, her pale face, dark hair, trim figure, and maroon dress making the same lovely picture I had fallen for so hard. Everything was the same—except the expression in her eyes. It was almost as if she were surprised to see me.
    I managed a grin. “Is something wrong?”
    She took her time answering me. Finally she shook her head, looked away from me. “No,” she said. “Nothing’s wrong.”
    I tried to act natural, but my voice sounded like the bark from a dictating machine. “Come in, come in,” I said. “Welcome to my little abode. At least it’s comfortable—and private. We’ll be able to talk, and …”
    She looked at me again and broke out a hard little smile. “Tell me,” she said, “does the plane still leave at two?”
    That didn’t make any more sense than the fact that she’d seemed surprised to see me. I’d told her quite a lot more, about the construction contract and how I had closed it, with the binder check in my pocket, and other stuff. But a nervous guy doesn’t argue. “I thought I explained about that,” I told her. “The plane was booked up solid, and I’m grounded here until tomorrow morning. The home office said to see the town. Have me a really good time. I—thought I’d do it with you.”
    â€œI am indeed flattered,” she said.
    She didn’t sound flattered, but I asked her once more to come in, and when she made no move I tried a fresh