t. She hoisted the bag--standing
on her tip toes--to the rack above and settled into the seat, primly
rearranging her dress.

But she was unable to relax. She stared out the window; the building
across the lot presented an uninteresting and windowless expanse of
brick. She yawned nervously and surveyed the other passengers who were
beginning to filter back.

The driver dropped heavily into his seat behind the wheel; he pulled the
door closed, and the motor purred. He counted his passengers in the
mirror.

Julia tightened her lips, and her face wrinkled into a stubborn little
frown. Her finger tapped restlessly on her knee. She resolved to bring
the husband back with her.

She could buy the Castle Place out on Mannor Street for $4,000. She
would have $10,000 left to buy him--to make the down payment on, at
least--Beck's Hardware Store. From that they would realize a steady and
an adequate income. She would give Saturday teas for the society women
and show her husband off--in a neat, double breasted suit--in church on
Sunday. They would go to the movies twice a week; they would go dancing
once a month. They would have three children, two boys and a girl. She
would let her husband go moose hunting in Canada once a year, and
weekends during bass season they'd go up to the lodge (I should be able
to buy the Roger's cabin on Center Creek for a few hundred, she thought)
and fish.

She suddenly wished she had flown to Hollywood. She was in a great hurry
to get there, get the selecting over and done with, and get back.

At Joplin a young man got on and sat down beside her. She watched him,
from time to time, out of the corner of her eye. Outside, the huge chat
piles (said by the civic boosters to be the biggest in the world)
paraded by the bus. Ought to start snowing again pretty soon, she
thought.... It will be fun to swim in the Pacific in February.

* * * * *

After the bus crossed the Missouri-Kansas line she turned to the young
man seated beside her. "I'm going to Hollywood," she said.

"Going to get in the movies?"

"Oh, no," Julia said, "... no." Her finger tapped impatiently on her
knee.

"That's why most pretty girls go to Hollywood."

Julia blushed. Her eyes, brown and friendly, searched his face. "I'm the
domestic sort," she said. "My name's Julia. What's yours?"

"My name's William."

"That's a nice name."

"Julia's a nice name, too."

"I majored in literature in h