“For Christ's sake,” he said to Cassidy, “where you been? All day yesterday I waited in Lundy's. Figured at least you'd show up to tell me what happened.”

  Cassidy shrugged. “Nothing happened.”

  Shealy backed away to get a better perspective of Cassidy's appearance. “We know you didn't go home. We asked Mildred and she said you didn't show.”

  Cassidy turned away and moved toward one of the side counters and looked down at a display of sunglasses. He put his hands on the edge of the counter and leaned low over it and said, “I was with Doris.”

  Then he waited, and after some moments he heard Shealy saying, “It sums up. I should have known it sums up.”

  Cassidy turned. He looked at Shealy. He said quietly, “What's wrong with you?”

  Shealy did not reply. He was sending his eyes through Cassidy's eyes and trying to see the core of Cassidy's mind.

  “All right,” Cassidy said. “Let's hear the sad music.”

  The white-haired man folded his arms and gazed past Cassidy's shoulder and said, “Leave her alone, Jim.”

  “For what good reason?”

  “She's helpless. She's a sick girl.”

  “I know that,” Cassidy said. “That's why I won't leave her alone. That's why I'm staying with her.” He hadn't meant to state his complete plans, but now, as though Shealy was challenging him, he met the challenge and said bluntly, “I won't be going back to Mildred. I'll never be with Mildred again. From now on you'll find me living with Doris.”

  Shealy moved toward the ladder and gazed up at the top shelf where the sweaters and working pants were stacked. His eyes were appraising and finally he seemed to be satisfied with the arrangement. But he went on looking up there at the merchandise as he said, “Why not take it further than that? If you're out to help all the poor creatures of the world, why don't you found a mission?”

  “You go to hell,” Cassidy said. He started toward the door.

  “Wait, Jim.”

  “Wait nothing. I come in to say good morning and you give me the needles.”

  “You didn't come in to say good morning.” Shealy was with him at the door and not allowing him to open it. “You come in because you want assurance. You want me to tell you that you're doing right.”

  “You? I need you to tell me?” Cassidy tried a sarcastic smile. All that showed was a scowl as he said, “What makes you so important?”

  “The fact that I'm out of it,” Shealy replied. “Entirely out of the show. Just a one-man audience, sitting in the balcony. That gives me a full view. I can see it from every angle.”

  Cassidy grimaced impatiently. “Quit the syrup, will you? Talk plain.”

  “All right, Jim. I'll make it as plain as I can. I'm just a worn-out rumhead, slowly rotting away. But there's one thing left alive in me, one thing working and holding me in line. That's my brains. It's my brains and only my brains telling you to keep away from Doris.”

  Here we go, Cassidy said to the wall. “Now it starts with the preaching.”

  “Me preach?” And Shealy laughed. “Not me, Jim. Anyone but me. I lost my sense of moral values a long time ago. The credo I hold today is based on simple arithmetic, nothing more. We can all survive and get along if we can just add one and one and get two.”

  “What's that got to do with me and Doris?”

  “If you don't leave her alone,” Shealy said, “she won't survive.”

  Cassidy took a backward step. He narrowed his eyes. “Come on, Shealy, come on downstairs. Come out of the clouds.”

  Shealy folded his arms again as he leaned back against the counter. “Jim,” he said, “before last night I'd never seen that girl. But I sat there at the table and I watched her take one drink. And that told me everything. Doris has only one need, and that's whisky.”

  Cassidy took a deep breath. He aimed a kick at the floor and said, “You ought to rent yourself an office. Put up a sign. My name is Doctor Shealy and for five bucks a visit I'll teach you how to louse up your life.”

  “I can't teach anybody anything,” Shealy said. “All I can do is show you what's in front of your face.” He took hold of Cassidy's arm and led him to the plate-glass window. Beyond the window the cobbled street was a narrow, dust-covered twisting path bordered with the leaning, decayed walls of tenements. The air was gray with the gaseous grime of the water front.

  “There it is,” Shealy said. “There's your life. My life. Nobody dragged us down here. We dragged ourselves. Wanting it. Knowing it was just what we wanted and we'd be comfortable. Like pigs who go for the mud, because there's no bumps, it's soft—”

  “It's rotten,” Cassidy said. “It's filth. I've had enough of it. I'm getting out.”

  Shealy sighed. “The dreams again.” He shook his head with a kind of sorrow. “I've been here eighteen years and I've heard thousands of dreams. And they've all been the same. I'm getting out. I'm climbing up. I'm taking her by the hand and we'll find the road together. The shining road that aims upward.”

  Cassidy waved wearily and said, “What's the use? I won't get anywhere talking to you.”

  He turned his back to Shealy, went to the door, opened it and walked out. He was annoyed with himself for having visited Shealy and allowing the older man to assume the role of counselor. But to the same extent he was gratified to know he had completely rejected Shealy's point of view. He told himself he would continue to reject that kind of thinking, hurdle it and run from it and stay away from it. In that connection, it might be a good idea to stay away from Shealy. And certainly he was going to stay away from Lundy's Place.

  It was like placing his plans on the edge of a springboard, letting them bounce a little, bracing them and then letting them go. They were good plans, he knew, and they soared in his mind. He saw Doris and himself packing the bags and moving away from the gray stagnation of the water front. Going somewhere uptown to one of those low-rent housing projects where each little house had a patch of green in front. He'd ask the bus people for a raise and he knew they wouldn't say no. He was certainly due for a raise and right about now he more or less had them against a wall. The drivers were always getting sore and quitting and lately they'd lost two good drivers and he was the only one left who could really be depended upon. It might go up as high as sixty a week and that was plenty, that was all right.

  The only complication was the fact that Mildred might make trouble. But the chances were he could buy Mildred off, maybe pay her off in installments until the divorce was over and done with. Come to think of it, he'd be able to evade the financial angle entirely if Haney Kenrick footed the bill. And the chances were Haney would be only too eager to do that.

  He came to the end of the narrow side street leading into Front Street, started up Front toward Arch. A few blocks ahead the street was crammed with early-morning trucking activity, but down here there was an emptiness and a quiet, a jagged broken line of neglected real estate and condemned houses. A cat came racing after a rat from underneath a busted fence and Cassidy stopped for a moment to watch the chase. The rat was almost as large as its pursuer. It was very anxious that it shouldn't be caught, but on the other side of the street it became confused and found itself wedged in between piles of bricks. The cat came in, rushing in toward it, and it hunched itself against the wall, braced itself to leap at the rat.

  That was as much as Cassidy saw, because just then he sensed something whizzing toward him, as though suddenly the air near his head was compressed and heavy. Mechanically he moved his head just a little, heard the swish and hiss and saw the rectangular shape sailing past. He saw the brick crashing against the wall of a deserted warehouse and in the same instant he pivoted to see who had thrown the brick.

  He saw Haney Kenrick trying to dart into an alleyway. His initial impulse was to chase after Haney and resume the battle. The action of Saturday night should have terminated the argument, but apparently Haney felt the need of continued rebuttal. Cassidy took a few steps toward the alleyway and then stopped short, shrugged and decided it wasn't worth the effort. Anyway, Haney must know that he had been seen and it was a hundred to one he wouldn't try anything like that again.

  Cassidy continued toward Arch Street. Arriving at Arch, he crossed the street going east toward Second, where people on the corner were waiting for the trolley. The sun was up very full and hot and he knew it would be a scorcher today. Already he could feel the pressure of the sun and he could see the blaze of it bouncing off the store windows along Arch Street. He told himself it would be a damn sensible idea to check the rear tires of the bus. Last week another driver had gone out on a hot day and the burning road had rubbed its way through and there was a blowout.

  Almost a bad accident, and if the bus had turned over it would have been too bad. Cassidy solemnly repeated it to himself. On a high-Fahrenheit day such as this, it was very important to check the tires. He was crossing First Street and thinking about the tires and then someone called his name.

  It was Mildred's voice. He saw her standing there on the other side of Arch. She had her hands on her hips. She was wearing a blouse and skirt and high-heeled shoes. Some men were passing by and a few of them sneaked a glance backward. Others were more brazen and stopped for a moment to have themselves a look. She was a big, gorgeous ornament standing there on the corner of First Street and Arch.

  “Cassidy,” she called, and her voice was rich and full, a projectile of sound, bursting against the quiet drone of the early morning, “Come here. I want to talk to you.”

  He didn't move. He told himself he'd talk with her when he felt good and ready.

  “You hear me?” Mildred called. “Come on over here.”

  Cassidy shrugged and decided he might as well have it out with her now and get it over with. He advised himself to take it very easy and no matter what she said, no matter what names she called him, he mustn't lose his temper. Be cold, he said to himself. Just be ice-cold.

  He crossed the street and came up to her and said, “What's on your mind?”

  “I've been waiting here for you.”

  “So?”

  She leaned her weight on one hip. “I want to know where you been.”

  “Call up information.”

  Her lower lip jutted and she said, “Now, listen, bastard—”

  “We're in public,” he said.

  “—the public.”

  “All right, then,” he said. “Let's put it this way. It's too early in the morning.”

  “Not for me it ain't,” Mildred said. “It's never too early for me.”

  She turned her head and looked around, and he knew she was searching for a milk bottle or any kind of a bottle, any kind of heavy missile.

  “That's over with,” he said.

  She blinked a few times. “What's over with?”

  “The fighting. The hell-raising. Everything.”

  She stared at him. The finality was there on his face but she didn't believe it. Her lips curled and she said, “Look at him there, all quiet and respectable. Who took you to church?”

  “It wasn't church.”

  “What was it?”

  He didn't say anything.

  Mildred took a step toward him. “You think you're smart, don't you? You think you're putting something over. Well, let me tell you a thing or two. I don't get fooled easy. I got good eyes and I know what's happening.”

  She prodded a finger against his chest, then shoved both hands at his chest, started to shove again but he grabbed her wrists and said, “Lay off. I'm warning you, lay off.”

  “Let go my hands.”

  “So you can swing at me?”

  “I said let go.” She tried to twist away. “I'll tear your eyes out. I'll rip your face apart—”

  “No, you won't.” The steady deadly calm of it caused her to stop struggling, and as he released her wrists she didn't move. He said, “I'll say it once and you'll hear it and that's all. We're washed up.”

  “Listen, Cassidy—”

  “No. I'm talking. Didn't you hear? I said we're washed up.”

  “You mean you're moving out?”

  “That's the general idea. When I get off work today I'm coming back to the flat and packing up.”

  She snapped her fingers. “Just like that?”

  He nodded. “Like that.”

  For a stretched moment she didn't say anything. She just looked at him. Then she said quietly, “You'll be back.”

  “You think so? Sit there and wait.”

  She let that pass. She said, “What do you want, Cassidy? You want to see a performance? I should break down in tears? I should beg you to stay? I should get down on my knees? Why, you, you—” She raised her fist, held it in front of him for a moment, then let it drop.

  He turned and started to walk away from her. She came after him, grabbed him and twisted him around.

  “Lay off,” he said. “I said it's final. It can't be patched up.”

  “Damn you,” she seethed. “Did I say I want it patched up? All I want is—”

  “What? What?”

  “I want you to come out with it. Who is it?”

  “That ain't the point.”

  “You're a liar.” Her arm flashed and she smacked him full across the face. “You're a no-good liar.” She smacked him again and with her other hand she grabbed his shirt and held him there and smacked him a third time. “You rotten bastard,” she shrieked.

  He rubbed the side of his face. He muttered, “People are looking.”

  “Let them look,” Mildred yelled. “Let them get a good look.” She glared at the people who were standing around and looking. “To hell with you,” she said to them.

  A stout middle-aged woman said, “It's shameful. It's a disgrace.”

  “Go chase yourself,” Mildred told the woman. Then she turned to Cassidy and shouted, “Sure, that's me. I'm a bum. I got no manners, I got no breeding. I'm just a broad, a skirt. But still I got privileges. I know I got certain privileges.” She lunged at Cassidy and with both hands she grabbed thick locks of his hair, forcing his head back and screaming, “I got a right to know. And you're gonna tell me. Who's the woman?”

  Cassidy took hold of her arms and freed himself. He stepped back and said, “All right. Her name is Doris.”

  “Doris?” She stared off to one side. “Doris?” Then her stare aimed at Cassidy. “That nothing? That skinny little drunk?” Her stare became dazed and she said, “Jesus Christ, is that who it is? Is that my competition?”

  Cassidy begged himself not to hit her. He knew if he hit her now he would do very serious damage. He bit his lip hard and then he said, “I've made up my mind I want to marry Doris. Will you go get a divorce?”

  Mildred went on staring at him.

  He said, “Will you get a divorce? Answer me.”

  She answered him. She leaned toward him and her spit splashed against his face. As the saliva dripped down his cheek, he saw her turning and walking away. He heard the people murmuring and some of them laughing and one of the men said, “Wow!”

  6

  In the trolley sliding along the hot tracks going toward the bus depot, he sat staring at the floor and feeling sort of puzzled and wondering why he was puzzled. The thing with Mildred was settled and it had happened as he should have expected it would happen. He certainly hadn't expected her to take it with a sweet smile and a friendly pat on the shoulder, wishing him good luck and saying it was nice to have known him. She had reacted in typical Mildred-fashion, and he hadn't been surprised then and he couldn't understand why he was puzzled now.

  Maybe it wasn't puzzlement. If not, then what was it? He asked himself if it was the blues. But it couldn't be the blues, that wouldn't make sense. He ought to be happy. He had every reason to be happy. His situation was wholesome now, he had discovered something sanitary and decent within himself, had decided to utilize it, hold onto it, make it flourish and thus construct a better life for himself and Doris.

  Himself and Doris. That wasn't quite the way to put it. Turn it around. Doris and himself. That was better. That was proper. A fine word, proper. He liked the flavor of it as it repeated itself in his mind. Proper in capital letters and underlined. Proper that he had met Doris. Proper that he had seen beyond her alcoholism, had seen the basic goodness, had been drawn toward her, not lured, not teased, but drawn slowly and surely as the devout are drawn toward a shrine. And that was proper. All his thoughts, all his plans for Doris and himself were entirely proper. The trolley was approaching the bus depot and he had cleared his mind of the incident with Mildred on the street corner. He was thinking in terms of Doris and himself and how proper it was and he felt fine.

  The good feeling increased as he entered the depot and saw the bus. He went into the small locker room and put on a jumper and spent the better part of an hour checking the tires, adjusting the carburetor, testing the points. He jacked up the bus and sent grease into the transmission and tightened up on the clutch. Then sliding backward underneath the bus he saw it needed new springs. He spoke to the superintendent about it, and the super complimented him on his efficiency. In the rear storage room he found a new set of springs, put them in place and came out from underneath with his face grease-blackened and his eyes quietly happy.

  He washed his face and put on a clean uniform. In the waiting room a clerk was telling the passengers it was time for the morning run to Easton. They walked eagerly toward the bus and Cassidy stood at the door and helped them in. He smiled at them and they smiled back. He tipped his cap to the older ladies and heard one of them saying to her companion, “He's so polite. It's so nice when they're courteous.”

  He gave his passengers a perfect ride to Easton. Not too fast, not too slow, just a perfectly paced ride with time gained on the stretches of wide highway when there was not much traffic, and caution exercised along the narrow, curving road that bordered the upper Delaware. There were places where the road climbed abruptly, where it sloped acutely and called for expert driving. He demonstrated to his passengers the meaning of really expert driving. When they arrived at Easton a middle-aged man smiled at him and said, “You sure know how to run a bus. First time I ever felt safe all the way.”