ke that. Or maybe we did and I just didn't know
about them. But what do you think I should've done about Miz Rorty?"

"Just what you did," I told him. "If they want money, they ask you for
it first. Where you staying?"

"Y.M.C.A.," he said, almost asleep. "Back in Covington, Kentucky, I was
a member of the Y and I kept up my membership. They have to let me in
because I'm a member. Spacers have all kinds of trouble, Doc. Woman
trouble. Hotel trouble. Fam'ly trouble. Religious trouble. I was raised
a Southern Baptist, but wheah's Heaven, anyway? I ask' Doctor Chitwood
las' time home before the redlines got so thick--Doc, you aren't a
minister of the Gospel, are you? I hope I di'n' say anything to offend
you."

"No offense, son," I said. "No offense."

I walked him to the avenue and waited for a fleet cab. It was almost
five minutes. The independents that roll drunks dent the fenders of
fleet cabs if they show up in Skid Row and then the fleet drivers have
to make reports on their own time to the company. It keeps them away.
But I got one and dumped the kid in.

"The Y Hotel," I told the driver. "Here's five. Help him in when you get
there."

* * * * *

When I walked through Screwball Square again, some college kids were
yelling "wheah's your redlines" at old Charlie, the last of the
Wobblies.

Old Charlie kept roaring: "The hell with your breadlines! I'm talking
about atomic bombs. _Right--up--there!_" And he pointed at the Moon.

It was a nice night, but the liquor was dying in me.

There was a joint around the corner, so I went in and had a drink to
carry me to the club; I had a bottle there. I got into the first cab
that came.

"Athletic Club," I said.

"Inna dawghouse, harh?" the driver said, and he gave me a big
personality smile.

I didn't say anything and he started the car.

He was right, of course. I was in everybody's doghouse. Some day I'd
scare hell out of Tom and Lise by going home and showing them what their
daddy looked like.

Down at the Institute, I was in the doghouse.

"Oh, dear," everybody at the Institute said to everybody, "I'm sure I
don't know what ails the man. A lovely wife and two lovely grown
children and she had to tell him 'either you go or I go.' And
_drinking_! And this is rather subtle, but it's a well-known fact that
neurotics seek out low company to compensate for their guilt-feelings.
The _places_ he frequents. Doctor Francis Bowman,