ately funny. Once it was a tree, another time a farmer in
a sleigh, and a third time a Ford. Hugh insisted, after laughing until
he wept, that the Ford was the "funniest goddamned thing" he'd ever
seen. Carl agreed with him.

They were both pretty thoroughly drunk by the time they reached the
center of the town, where they intended getting the bus back to
Haydensville. Two girls passed them and smiled invitingly.

"Oh, what peaches," Carl exclaimed.

"Jush--jush--Jush swell," Hugh said with great positiveness, hanging on
to Carl's arm. "They're the shwellest Janes I've ever sheen."

The girls, who were a few feet ahead, turned and smiled again.

"Let's pick them up," Carl whispered loudly.

"Shure," and Hugh started unsteadily to increase his pace.

The girls were professional prostitutes who visited Hastings twice a
year "to get the Sanford trade." They were crude specimens, revealing
their profession to the most casual observer. If Hugh had been sober
they would have sickened him, but he wasn't sober; he was joyously drunk
and the girls looked very desirable.

"Hello, girls," Carl said expansively, taking hold of one girl's arm.
"Busy?"

"Bish-bishy?" Hugh repeated valiantly.

The older "girl" smiled, revealing five gold teeth.

"Of course not," she replied in a hard, flat voice. "Not too busy for
you boys, anyway. Come along with us and we'll make this a big
afternoon."

"Sure," Carl agreed.

"Sh-shure," Hugh stuttered. He reached forward to take the arm of the
girl who had spoken, but at the same instant some one caught him by the
wrist and held him still.

Harry Slade, the star football player and this year's captain, happened
to be in Hastings; he was, in fact, seeking these very girls. He had
intended to pass on when he saw two men with them, but as soon as he
recognized Hugh he paused and then impulsively strode forward.

"Here, Carver," he said sharply. "What are you doing?"

"None--none of you da-damn business," Hugh replied angrily, trying to
shake his wrist free. "Leggo of me or--or I'll--I'll--"

"You won't do anything," 'Slade interrupted. "You're going home with
me."

"Who in hell are you?" one of the girls asked viciously. "Mind your own
damn business."

"You mind yours, sister, or you'll get into a peck of trouble. This
kid's going with me--and don't forget that. Come on, Carver."

Hugh was still vainly trying to twist his wrist free and was muttering,
"Leggo, leggo o' me."