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On this Page 13
BLACK CATS
Are LUCKY
none Help
TONY CLAIBORNE
waited until the train
stopped for water,
though there had been
a hali dozen times in
the last half hour
when he could have
swung off. The freight
had come up the Rocky
Mountain grade so
slowly that ae'd been
able to count the in-
dividual ties under his elbow.
Rolling into the ditch below the road-
bed he saw houses beyond the water
tower. Good. A town wasn't abso-
lutely necessary - lonely towermen
would always put out-but it was
better. Maybe he'a be able to pick
up a little change to expedite the pro-
cess of putting miles between himself
and Big Harris.
Anthony Claiborne on the road again.
Hallelujah, brother, as the song said.
Blow Joe Podolsky and all his workin'
stiff tribe. If he hadn't gotten a job
for Joe, the rat wouldn't have had a
chance to rob Big Harris' till, and
Tony Claiborne could have stayed on
in San Lazaro, happy as a lark.
He brushed dust off what had been
a good suit a long time ago. No use.
These mountain roads burned the most
adhesive coal In the world. The last
job he'd ever get for anyone. What
was the use of working? Tony Clai-
borne had gotten along without lt for
some time now.
He was not an individual, but one of
a whole class, a new class that had
sprung up in tht last five years. Tony
and a hundred thousand other kids
male and female, had homes and
had never worked. Work is a habit
When you have got along without it
all your life, you don't believe in it.
And at night, in the jungles, or
wherever you happened to flop, you
read old newspapers, and see where a
couple of thousand workers have been
laid off by some factory after three
weeks. Maybe in some other column
there's a government figure that
says that unemployment is going down,
but you don't believe that. You'can't
picture that, but you can see a thousand
guys with dinner pails pulling their
cards and being turned out of a factory.
So what's the u-e ot »vpn looking tor
a job? If there was one, you couldn't
hold it. You're an outcast. Because
you have always wandered-three years
is always when they start on your
twentieth birthday-you think you al-
ways will.
So you drifted along, and you natur-
ally looked for your three squares from
the broad-minded folk-like Big Harris,
who had let Tony do a little singing in
his saloon at San Lazaro until Tony
had got a flunkey's job for Joe
Podolsky.
TONY was a little
different from the other kids of the
road because he knew what he was, a
temporary phenomenon, a member of a
special class. Tony had had two years
of college, until the trust fund his
father had left him had blown up.
Tony had even gone into a library one
time and read the book about the road
kids that a professor from Chicago had
written.
But that didn't help any. It only
made him feel more outcast, because
_ ^_
j: A Complete Short Story jj
s By y
Richard
j Wormser
the professor had feared that five years
on the road would permanently unfit
the boys for industrial use-a swell
phrase.
Hl-ho, head for the water-tower.
Where there was a water-tower, there
would be a jungle. Anthony Claiborne
riding the rods once more! He found
the hobo camp, an unprosperous one,
bearing a chalk sign: Hostile.
The town was down on tramps. Well,
no need to be a tramp if the tramp
market was falling. He stripped off his
ember^sooted clothes and hid them in
the sage. He shaved with his pocket
razor, but without soap or mirror. At
twenty-three he could do that, because
his beard was blonde and his skin
smooth.
Anthony Claiborne impersonating a
worker! He wandered towards the town
as the sun peered up over the crest of
the Rockies. But he'd been sleeping
late, these soft days in San Lazaro, and
he'd forgotten how early dawn was In
the spring. A clock in front of a court-
house told him that it would be an hour
before he could reasonably expect any
shopkeeper to be about his business.
He found a bench in front of the
courthouse. Anthony Claiborne taking
his ease!
After a while he said: "Gosh. They
are hostile in this town, aren't they,
cat?"
His voice was surprisingly boyish for
one so at home In the lower stratum of
railroading.
The black cat was scrawny, almost
impossibly so. It sat on the pavement
in front of him, its tail pressed down
hard, ready to pivot and run at the
first false move. It looked as though
it hadn't eaten in a week.
Tony's brow compressed. Being
none Help
SEVERAL THOUSAND PETS are no trouble at all to Mrs. Douglas
Lawder, of New York. In fact, she keeps them all on a small table-tn the
very newest style of Ant Palace. Mrs. Lawder finds the busy little termites
a fascinating study because of their highly-organised social system of living
and working. In the photo Mrs Lawder is shown observing her house
guests tn their formicarium (ants' nest to you)
dumped out of college into a world sud-
denly hard and friendless had done cer-
tain things to him in the last three
years; but it had never toughened him
to the acceptance of that fact that
people might let an animal go hungry
"Poor cat. Sorry, but I left my supply
of kitten-ration behind me. The hurry
of packing, don't you know?"
The cat slowly lowered its forelegs
until it was lying on the pavement
Gradually, Tony bent forward, talking
to a cat, petting it, was something to
do, something that would press back
the gnawing in a man's stomach, the
dull anger at a fate that had allowed
him to befriend a rat like Joe Podolsky
He remembereo Alice in Wonderland
'Do cats eat rats, cat?"
The cat allowed him to rub his hand
down its back, Slowly, as he rubbed,
the scrawny back was arched, pressing
against the comforting warmth of a
human hand; then, suddenly, the cat
sprang, and was in his lap.
But once there, it trembled, as though
sure that this was too much; now the
world would turn against It again.
The shivering of that little body
cracked Tony's gay veneer. For the
first time in months, he saw himself
as piteous. He bit his lip and grinned,
and went on petting the cat. "Good
cat. How would you like a name?
Hoover? Jim Farley? Or-Debs?
That a good name, cat? Eugene V.
Debs. Eugenia Debs. Debs, Debs?
Debs."
The cat purred and let all its muscles
go limp. It even essayed a little
wriggle. Its fur was fine and soft and
clean for such a hungry beast.
E^VENTUALLY they
both . dozed. The courthouse clock,
striking an hour, awoke Ton;-. When
he opened his eyes, he was awake all
over; his life didn't encourage dopi-
ness.
"You still here, Debs? Wish I could
take you along, but a cat might hinder
me in my business. Let's go, Debs.
You for the garbage can, me for the
stores." He rose, and Debs leaped
to the ground.
Tony shoved along the main street,
peering into shop windows.
He passed up dry goods stores,
butchers', a chain-store grocery. He
hurried past a jewellery store, not
wanting to be seen peering at watches
or diamond-crusted seals.
Two and a half blocks from the
courthouse he found an ideal lay-out.
Groceries, but not too many green vege-
tables; they were bad, because the
owner would pay off in wilted carrots
and beans rather than canned goods,
and fresh stuff took too long to cook.
Besides,, fresh vegetables must be
bought for cash. A store that was low
on them would be sympathetic, the
failing helping the failed.
The two heavy display stands inside
would have to come out on to the side-
walk soon. Surely the clerks would let
him do that. The floor could stand a
sweeping, too.
Tony turned. Now find a place to
park until the grocer got there. He
stood, looking»--something touched his
ankle.
"Debs? Cats don't follow people, cat.
Go on and find your own meal-ticket,
Debs. This ls mine." The fire
hydrant around the corner would do,
and he could look through the cleaning
store window and see when the meal
ticket was ready for punching.
Please turn to Page 14

^\^HEN he moved to-

wards the hydrant Debs trotted along,
tall high, then ran ahead of him, and
stopped to see that he was coming.

"Say, Debs, you must think you're a
dog. No Illusions, cat, no megalo-

mania."

When he sat down on the fire plug
Debs leaped into his lap.

Five minutes passed, ten. White
aproned clerks were opening up the
other shops. Maybe he'd . picked a

closed one?

No-movement behind the glass. The
dcor was opened by a figure in white.
He lifted Debs to the ground, said
"Scat," and jerked his coat into place.
Now was the time to make the brace.

H E started off. Debs

took three little gallops, rubbed against
his ankle in passing, and darted ahead.
"Scat! No? Well, come on then, my
proletarian feline. I can use you in my

business."

For he had perceived that the white
figure bending over one of the heavy
vegetable stands and tugging at it was
a woman. Swell! Oh, elegant. Maybe
the luck of Anthony Claiborne had
changed.

"Ma'am?"

Not a woman, a girl. There were no
wrinkles below the turban she had
made of a towel.

The technique was not to wait for a
turndown. Do lt first, and get the
person into your debt. She stepped
aside as he caught hold of the heavy
stand and dragged it to the door;
Eugenia Debs had waited outside,
frightened a little by the intrusion of
a second human into the combination.

"Which way, ma'am?"

"It goes on the right of the door.

But-"

The grinding of the stand on the
pavement cut off her words until he
had pushed it into place and straight

BLACK CATS are

ened, grinning to show how young and
disarming he was.

"Now the other one."

But she was scared. Better put
Debs to work. Holding the cat against
his cheek he knew he looked less alarm-
ing.

"Let me do the other one, and carry
your groceries out, ma'am. I'll sweep
the store, too. You see-" put a
shade of embarrassment Into your
voice;-"I thought maybe you'd give me
a can of beans for my breakfast. I'm
-well, I'm broke."

"We don't like tramps In this town.
Two of them nearly killed a traffic

officer last week."

Gently: "I'm not a tramp, ma'am."
Now play the ace. "But some beans
and a can of Shefton's milk."

"Shefton's. That costs a cent more
than-"

It had worked! "Any other kind,
then, ma'am. But you see Debs' is
used to Shefton's. I hate to change

her diet."

"Your cat?" she stared at him
curiously. "All right. A can of beans
and some milk won't break me. Lord
knows, I can't sell them." But she
worked, stayed in one place-and took
the same beating Tony did. It wasn't

worth it.

"Yes, ma'am." He gave the cat a
little squeeze before he set it down.
Good old Debs.

H ALF an hour later

he leaned the broom In the closet at
the back of the store and turned
around^- The girl unwound her turban.
A blonde like that working in a grocery

store.

"You made up the stands much better
than I could," she said. "Did you work
in a grocery store?"

Sometimes they asked that. Ii they

?j did you told them yes, but the chain

stores put you out of business. Once,
memorably, that had been good for a
five-dollar bill. It always worked for
extra groceries and a little cash.

He surprised himself by saying: "No,
ma'am. But-well, I've seen a lot of
them." And that was true. He'd
swept out stores and set up stands from

coast to coast twice.

Anthony Claiborne telling the truth!
She said: "Oh. Well . . . here's

the beans. I'll get the milk. You

said Shefton's?"

"Yes, ma'am" He crammed the
beans into his pocket and picked up
Debs, gently stroking her fur. She

purred.

"Stop calling me ma'am," the girl

said.

"Yes, ma . . . O.K." Don't relax,
Tony; your stomach won't stand it.
He put the milk into the other poc-
ket, suddenly weak now that food was
so close. He set Debs down and started
for the door.

"Wait a minute. You . . . you
know something about groceries.
Would you like a Job here? I thought
I could run the store all by myself,
my uncle did. But I can't make it
go."

Little black dots were coming down
before his eyes. But he owed her con-
versation for the food. "Uh . . .
there's a chain store down the street.
That's always tough. Your uncle
probably got his trade from his friends.
Don't you?"

"I'm from further East. I only came
here when he died."

"Oh." Tell her something and get
out. If you faint, they'll find out
you're a tramp, and you'll get the
rush. What was lt that man in Ohio
did? The one who gave him the bacon?
Yeah. "Look. Ill tell you a stunt
Make up a dally special like this .

call it a pie for a quarter, a meat dish
for twenty-eight cents." That wasn't
clear. Through the fog the girl's eyes
were puzzled. "List lt on your win-
dow. You write out the recipe, some-
thing unusual ... a new dish. Then
you make specials of all the ingre-

dients. See?"

HE stroked Debs.

Why didn't she say yes, and let him
go. Was she falling for him? An-
thony Claiborne and a she-grocer?
Yeah, a swell sap he'd be to stay
here and fall. Better to move on,
where people don't know you can't
make the grade. She was talking.

"Oh. I see. There's a recipe . . ."
"Sure." He started moving for the
door. Aw, give the girl a break. "Look,
another angle. When the butchers
feature something for a week-end roast,
you tell the trade how to use up the
leftovers on Monday."

She was saying something. He
couldn't hear her because of some-
thing; but if she was so dumb she
didn't understand now, let her suffer.
He strode stiffly out the door.

Tony Claiborne just made the bench
In front of the courthouse. The cans
were cool and reassuring in his poc-
kets. He sat there. When the black
spots cleared, there was a cop look-
ing at him.

Tony stood up. Debs had been sit-
ting on his lap. She ran after him,
ruining the dignified exit he had
planned.

LUCKY

Continued from Page 13 1

A clerk in front of a butcher's stared
at him. "Hey, buddy, there's a cat
following you."

"My cat. Come on, Debs."

"Aw, cats don't follow guys. Lookee,
we got mice. You wanta leave him
here?"

"Sure."

The boy in the white apron picked
Debs up, carried her into the store.
Tony hurried on, relieved. AU the
more food. A butcher store to a cat
was like the Rock Candy Mountain
for a tramp.

H E made the Jungle,

unloosened his belt, and found the
rusty can-opener left by the brother-
hood for Just such emergencies. He
crammed cold bean down his throat,
waited, felt strength start up through
his body.

Something meowed, something rubbed
his ankles. "Hey, Debs! You've sold
out. You belong to the capitalistic
system, now. Scat, you slave. Back
to your fleshpots."

Debs refused to take him seriously.

Please turn lo Page 16

BLACK CATS an

o H a proletarian cat

huh? Got principles, have you? You're
not cut out for a journeyman worker
Debs. Go back and curry favor witt

the bosses."

But Debs was not to be shaken.

Tony munched more beans. Deb:
meowed furiously.

But he paid no attention. Let thf
cat prey on the bourgeoisie! Everj
man for himself on the road.

Beans are thirst provoking. He cul
the top off the milk can, took a deei
swallow, and went back to the beans
Just at the bottom of the can a fin<
piece of fat pork nestled. He frowned
then tossed it to Debs.

The proletarian cat growled once
gratefully, and the pork was gone.

There was too much Shefton's foi
one man. He set the can down, anc
Debs lapped, the milk splashing against

the side of the can.

He got the travelling clothes out ol
the brush, pulled them on, and curlec
up in the sun to sleep. Anthony Clai-
borne resting at his leisure!

Debs finished the milk, and settlec
down on her master's chest, perhapi
not as full as she would have been al

the butcher's, but conter^ A cat has
to have someone to loveT

Cold creeping up his legs woke Tonj
Claiborne. His stomach was warm
That was because Debs was sleeping or
it. The sun was going down. How
long had he slept-^ten hours, twelve!

He was hungry again, and so wai
Debs, because she meowed.

"Time to go shifting, cat. You wail
here." He took off his travellinj
clothes, and moved out.

He had noticed this morning thal
this was a dry town. Good pickings
for Anthony Claiborne. He became s
sniffing beast, all nose, moving up anc
down the side streets, with his cal
always behind him.

Debs ran ahead suddenly, and
stopped before a dark entrance-way
He caught up with the cat and smelled,
"You're quite a scout," he praised Debs
There was the stench of stale beer hi
the hallway.

He stepped in. The cat waited out-
side, her black fur fading into the
night; too many people in there foi
an outcast like Debs.

Tony's fingers fumbled a greasy lintel
till he found a button. He rang, and
after a while a little peephole opened.
"Stranger in town, mister," Tony said.

The eye on the other side of the
peephole went away, came back, a light
flashed on, and Tony submitted himseli
to an inspection.

"Who sent ya here?"

"Fella at a barber shop."

"Jack?"

"I don't know his name."
"Come on in."

THE same room, the

same crowd. It was as though Anthony
Claiborne carried his surroundings with
him from coast to coast. This could be
Miguel's in San Lazaro, Jack's in New
York, Tony's In Los Angeles, or Hoppy's
in Denver. The slight difference of
legality or illegality affected only the
entrance door and the prices.

The inevitable cartoon framed behind
the bar-a local newspaper artist
working off a debt-said that lt was
Frank's. Frank's In-what was the
name of this town, anyway? All he
could think of was the name over the
grocery store-Junger's. There was no
town in the State named that. Must
be the girl's name.

Tony produced his last quarter, saved
for just this. "A glass o' light." The
beer slid down the bar to him. He
picked it up, sipped, and moved towards
the free lunch counter.

All he dared eat was one slice of
bologna and two pieces of rye bread.
He drank a little of his beer and worked
back up the bar.

Two men arguing over the beginning
of the baseball season. Swell set-up.
On your toes, Tony. The fat one wore
better clothes, but there were deep
lines down his mouth-a tightwad. The
thin one that favored the Giants was
surer, though there wouldn't be more
than one glass In it.

"Why, gents," Tony Claiborne said,
"I'm just up from the south. The
Giants are better this year than ever
before. I saw them training-"

The thin man welcomed him into the
argument, the fat one glowered. What
had been a two-cornered discussion
became, easy as easy, a three-cornered
one, with Tony leading.

After a while the thin man,
triumphant over his friend, bought a

beer.

On the strength of the second beer,
the free lunch counter was his. He
finished the argument, and ate a pig's
knuckle and three slices of bologna.

Debs would like the knuckle-bone.
Wonder if the cat is still waiting out-
side? She waited outside the grocery
store. Wonder if that girl took my

advice?

He moved down the bar, turning his
back on one discussion, facing another,
like a ballet dancer pirouetting up-
stage. He never finished a beer, and

LUCKY !

Continued from Page 14

the barman, noticing this, began gi.
lng him glasses that were nearly i

foam. The Claiborne system wi
working.

They liked him because he w,
young, and because he could sett
arguments . . . the interminable ba
room arguments . . . without provol
lng anyone.

Someone looked at his watch, i
called the time, and the room clears
as though by magic. The bartend'

polished his mahogany while Ton
leaned on the bar.

"Kid," the barman said, "they gon
to see the train come iii. I coul
maybe make you a plate of hot sour
Huh? I seen you working on the ire

lunch."

Soup? This Prank owed him mor
than that. "No thanks. I can se
you're no hick. The big city?"

"The windy one, brother. Yeah
Chicago claims me as a son. Plan oi
being in town long?"

"No. Got in a little trouble ou
California way. I'm heading back fo:
Lake Michigan, where Spiggoties don'
carry knives."

"You from Chi? Got In troubl«
with a Mex, huh?"

"Yeah." How Big Harris would hat«
that. "Hey, fella. I'm kinda low
Any chance of picking up a little
change?"

"Mopping up floors?"

"Do I look like a flunky?"

Please turn to Page 26

BLACK
CATS

are

LUCKY

Continued from Page 16

H UH? Well, maybe

I'll have something later." Swish, swish

went the towel down the bar.

Now was the time to show you were
reliable. How? The cat! "Hey,
Frank. Mind if I take some sausage
skins and a bone out to my cat? She's
waiting ..."

"Cat?" Frank's eyebrows rose. "If
it's a pal, bring him in and I'll set him
up. I made two bucks off'n you just

then."

"No. It's really a cat. I've had it
with me two years, out on the coast.
Follows me like a pup."

Frank went and unbarred the front
door. Tony called: "Debs, here cat!"
The shadows moved on the street, and
Debs was there. Tony'd been afraid
for a moment that she'd run away.

Debs trotted in as though she owned
the place. Good old proletarian cat!
What an addition to the act! Debs
gnawed happily on a knuckle bone,
wolfed incredible amounts of bologna,
while the barman watched interestedly.

"Say, that cat's just as loyal as a
dog, huh? Jees, I never see a cat
like that before. Huh, fella, what's
your name? . . . Tony Clay? You
wanta drive me to-night? I got a
delivery to make after closing time.
A dude ranch, over in the other end
of the county. They're dryer up there
than we are here, and I'll be bringing
back a big wad. You say you're from
Windytown? These Western kids drive
too fast for me. You take me up
there and I'll get some sleep on the
way. Otherwise, I wouldn't a been
able to close my eyes all night."

M ARIAN JUNGER

told herself she'd have to get some
sleep. Having to be at a store at
seven in the morning made every hour
she tossed this way more painful. Oh,
gosh, some morning she was going to
sleep and sleep and sleep. What was
tho sense In getting up that early, any-
way? It didn't bring in any customers.

Nothing brought in any customers.
Nothing at all. To-morrow morn-
ing she'd hang up the big win-
dow sign she'd spent the lonely after-
noon painting, the one about how to
make Mexican loaf. The window was
already set with the cheese display and
the canned beans, and the green
peppers she had spent so much time
polishing.

"A DINNER FOR FOUR-29 Cents

FIVE MINUTES"

Maybe that would bring in some
customers. That boy to-day had said
it would. And he seemed to know
what he was talking about.

No it wouldn't. Maybe they'd copy
her recipe and go down to one of the
other stores to buy the ingredients.

The reason people didn't come in
was because they didn't know her.

People only shopped at independent
stores because they could get gossip
from the proprietors that they couldn't
get at chain stores. And they dis-
trusted her. This town had never
heard of a young girl running a store

alone.

But that boy had said she could get
customers. And he looked as if he
ought to know. So hungry ... she
could tell . . . and so proud. But he
wouldn't take a job. He didn't be-
lieve in himself, maybe. Scared, for
all his pride, and his silly cat. A
hitch hiker with a cat.

If the store failed she'd be a hitch
hiker, too. Her job back East was
filled. If he'd stayed, so there'd be
someone to laugh with.

Just anyone to help you see the
funny side of the town's being scared
of you.

Someone to talk to, when no cus-
tomers ever came in, and it was lonely.
Even a^cat, if it was a nice cat. But

not even a cat had come to her store.

I'm too young to be alone always.
I'm only twenty-one. I want someone
to talk to.

Finally she cried herself to sleep. It
was worst at night.

Anthony Claiborne, the last of the
rum-runners! This was better luck
than he'd had in years. Worth almost
enough to send him away on the
cushions. _._i

Please turn to Page 50

BLACK CATS are LUCKY y

A T five in the morn-

ing, the Claiborne luck was still all
good. Tony steered the roadster back
into town, with his eyes windburned
and red. On his lap Debs snored, while
beside him Frank slept placidly,
slumped down in the seat with the
proceeds of a rumbleful of liquor in his
pocket.

I Why not stay in this town? No. For

three years he'd tried to stay in places,
and always something happened. Move
along, this time, before the luck broke.

Too late. Just as he was turning
the car into a side street, fate dealt its
blow. He was going twenty-five when
the tyre burst, which wasn't fast, but
it was a big tyre. He twisted hard, but
he couldn't do it. The car slid to a
stop with its radiator smashed against
a hydrant, steam rising high

The Claiborne luck! Five minutes
more, and he'd have been safe.

Luck, luck. Frank slept on, worn out.
Slept for a little while. But when he
woke up, it was curtains for the man
who had ruined his expensive car.

Continued from Page 26

T

J- HIS day's edition oí

the train that had brought Anthony
Claiborne to town showed up. It
stopped for water, as its mate had done
the day before. Tony climbed back on
the rods. A minute or more, and they'd
be going East once more. He was
hungry.

Debs came under the car, and arched
her back, rubbing against Tony.
"Scram, animal." If the train started
now, Debs would be mincemeat. Cats
aren't built for riding under trains.

He picked the cat up, threw her off
the roadbed and into the ditch. Debs
was back in an instant, coming at him.
He tossed a cinder, but missed.

The cat came on.

Scowling, he swung off the rods, and
rolled back into the bush. The train
started, and it was too late.

He'd take Debs back into town, now.
Leave her. He'd-this was an idea
give her to that girl-Junger.

"Good morning," the girl said. "I
thought you'd be gone by now."

"No. Ifm In a hurry, though."
"Come In."

"Look. I want you to take my cat
Debs. He-she needs a good home-"

"Why not stay here and work for me,

then?"

"I can't." Fool. Anthony Claiborne,
waking up too late. If he'd said yes,
yesterday, it would have been all right.
Why hadn't he? There was some
reason, but he'd forgotten it

The girl whispered: "My name's

Marian-"

She was staring over his shoulder.

A VOICE said: "Good

mornin', Miss Junger. Mr. Latimer,
you know Miss Junger."

Mr. Latimer was Frank. The other
one was a cop.

"This fella, here," the cop said, "he
stole Mr. Latimer's car, and took it
for a joy ride. Busted In the radiator."

Tony Claiborne looked towards the
rear of the store. There was a door
there. The cop wouldn't run very fast.

"Harold did that?" Marian Junger
said. "Why, surely you're wrong.
You've been here all morning, haven't
you, Harold?"

Tony found his voice. "Of course,
Marian. Why, officer, Marian . . .
Miss Junger, I mean . . . has known
me all my life. I came on to help

her with her store."

Without looking up, he muttered:
"This man got any proof, officer?"

"Proof?" Frank roared. "I don't
need proof I You're nothing but a
lying tramp, and the girl's lying, too,
because she's fallen for ..."

Tony found that Frank's teeth must
be false because they came out when
you hit him.

The cop started for Tony, then
turned to grab Frank as he saw that
Marian Junger had a good hold on the
boy's arm.

The girl said quickly: "I'll forget what
Latimer said if you take him out of
here before my friend kills him. I'll
forget that an officer of the law ls such
good friends with a bootlegger, too! Go
on, get out;-"

Tony felt her hands on his arm
trembling. Gee, they'd never know she

was scared.

The cop dragged Frank out.

The girl tugged at Tony's arm. "It
doesn't matter. He didn't hit you, did
he?"

"He never," Tony said. "Hey, what
are you crying for? What's the
matter?" He felt himself flushing. Now
he was shaking, too. "Aw, don't cry.
Please, don't."

"But, now you'll go away, and I was
so happy a minute ago. We-we stood
up for each other, didn't we-"

"Aw-please don't cry. Please. I'm
not going away. I'm not-"

Then, suddenly, he knew why he
hadn't left the cat at the butcher store.
He knew why he had come back here.
From then ,on it was easy. You just
put one hand on her shoulder, and
turned her a little. She was still hang-
ing on to his arm.

He said: "Look. Do me a favor, will
you?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Take-take that towel off your

head?"

She laughed a little, but through her
tears, and pulled at the towel. It came
off, but it pulled her chin up a little,
and you could hardly help kissing her.

SOMETHING rubbed

against their ankles, something made a
strong, vibrant noise like a tiny air-
plane motor. They looked down. But
Debs was not looking at them. She
was looking at the door of the shop.

They Jumped apart. There was a
customer there. Oh, gosh.

Tony said quickly: "I'm-I'm Miss
Junger's fiance, Anthony Claiborne. I
-well, I just got here, you see."

Mrs. Holman-Mrs. Judge Holman to
you-beamed. J'I see." she was trying
not to laugh. "Well-I've got a grocery
list here, if you two can take enough

time to fill it. You know where T
live?" 1

Marian said: "Yes. Oh, yes, Mrs
Holman." But it was Tony who hurried
forward and took the list from her
gloved hands. Debs galloped with him
and stood looking up at their first cris,
tomer. Mrs. Holman smiled and went

away, filled with gossip.

"I like Anthony," Marian said
"Anthony, Anthony. You fill out the
order. Anthony, while I go and make

breakfast. Want to come, Debs?"

But Dens preferred to lie in the door-
way and purr, waiting for customers.
She was a smart cat, and she knew
there'd be customers. Why not, when
? you could get a love-scene-just like in

the movies, to which Debs never went

-free with each order.

Debs tried a sort of a double purr.
She was no longer a proletarian cat;
in fact, she was on her way to becom-
ing a minor capitalist, with a third in-
terest in a prosperous store; but Debs
didn't seem to mind.

Upstairs, Marian began to sing.

(Copyright)

$