A slinky man comes up at his elbow and starts to talk out of the side of
his mouth.
"Say, mister--"
"Oh, _go_ to hell!" and the man fades away again, without even looking
startled, to mutter "Well, you needn' be so damn peeved about it--I'll
say you needn' be so damn peeved--whatcha think you are, anyhow--Marathon
Mike?" as Oliver's feet take Oliver swiftly away from him.
Nancy. The first time he ever kissed her when it was question and answer
with neither of them sure. And then getting surer and surer--and then when
they kissed. Never touching Nancy, never. Never seeing her again never any
more. That song the Glee Club used to harmonize over--what was it?
We won't go there any more,
We won't go there any more
We won't go there any mo-o-ore----
He lifts his eyes for a moment. A large blue policeman is looking at him
fixedly from the other side of the street, his nightstick twirling in a
very prepared sort of way. For an instant Oliver sees himself going over
and asking that policeman for his helmet to play with. That would be the
cream of the jest--the very cream--to end the evening in combat with a
large blue policeman after having all you wanted in life break under you
suddenly like new ice.
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