and glum and commonplace.
Could not be expected to register much. His thoughts probably were too
rusty and old by the time they formed in his head to issue forth in
sparkling deeds or words. Joe slipped a knot into his tie, gave his
hair a final swipe with the brush, caught a quick glance at himself in
the glass, and then rushed to the door and rattled down the stairs
whistling.

It was a fine morning, the kind that gave one lots of "pep," high
cloudless sky, dazzling sun, hot and bracing. The morning paper had a
column on the first page listing the names of those who had succumbed
to the heat; but Joe had no eyes for such morbid news. A man never
felt the heat when he had plenty of good work to do and was in good
shape, and things were going well with him. Funny, how much suffering
of any sort was due entirely to the state of mind. He whistled as he
swung along on his way to the garage. And when he stepped into the
door of the garage office he mopped his streaming face and shouted to
the night man who was just leaving, "'D you get those gaskets put into
the old boat, Harry?"

"Whadda you think this is?" growled the man, "a mad-house? This ain't
no flivver fact'ry--build you a car while you change yer shirt--course
I ain't changed them gaskets." Harry clumped sullenly out of the door
and down the street, keeping close to the wall, in the shade. Harry
was an old married man and his feet were leaden. Joe chuckled as he
gazed after him speculatively. And then he passed through the door
back into the shop.

It was Saturday and only four hours till noon. There were no
demonstrations scheduled for the afternoon. There was not a flaw in
the sky. And yet the morning dragged. The streets were hot; great
waves of heat came curling up from the asphalt, which was soft and
gummy and showed the ruts of passing tires.

Toward twelve things began to quicken. Two or three insignificant
details brazenly presented themselves and Joe fell upon them with
feverish irritation. For a time they threatened to encroach upon a
golden afternoon. A lady had sent in an inquiry about a winter top;
Mrs. LeMasters was having trouble with her doors squeaking. They could
just as well have waited until Monday.

It was two o'clock when he finally quieted Mrs. LeMasters, using a
small oil can on the hinges and a few honeyed words upon her ruffled
spirits. He drew a deep breath of exasperation and relief as he
clambered into his car and drove away. He