"And he moved in right away?"
"Well-yes. I mean, I think he was the one who gave them the idea of running a boarding house. You see, the way it is here, in a college town, you can't have both girls and boys- men-living in the same place. So the place where he was living, all the boarders were boys and they were awfully noisy, I guess, and-"
"I see. The Winroys had plenty of room, so he asked them to take him in. And as long as they had the one boarder, they decided to go after some others."
"Uh-huh. Only no one else would stay with them, I guess Mr. Kendall knew it would never be crowded here."
"Yeah," I said. "I imagine he did. Well, I think I'll go and see him, and-"
"Carl." Her hand tightened on mine. "About last…I' m not sorry, Carl,"
"All right," I said, trying to be firm and gentle at the same time. "I'm glad you're not sorry, Ruthie, and there's nothing for you to worry about. Now let's just leave it at that, huh? Let's make like it never happened."
"B-but I-I thought-"
"It's better that way, Ruthie. Mrs. Winroy might catch on. I've got an idea she wouldn't like it."
"B-but she didn't last night. If w-we were careful and-"
She was blushing; she couldn't look at me straight.
"Look," I said. "that stuff won't get you anything, kid. Nothing but trouble. You were doing all right before, weren't you? Well, then-"
"Tell me something, Carl. Is it because of my-because I'm like I am?"
"I've told you why," I said, "It's just damned bad business. I haven't got anything. I don't know how long I'm going to be here. You can't win, know what! mean? You ought to be doing your stepping out with one of the local boys-some nice steady guy you can marry some day and give you the kind of life you ought to have."
She bit her lip, turning her head on the pillows until she was staring at the wall.
"Yes," she said, slowly. "I suppose that's what I'd better do. Start stepping out. Get married. Thank you."
"Look," I said. "All I'm trying to do is-"
"It's my fault, Carl. I felt different around you. You seemed to like me, and you didn't seem to notice how-notice anything. And! guess I thought it was because you-I don't mean there's anything wrong with you-but-"
"I know," I said. "I felt the same way."
"And"-she didn't seem to have heard me-' 'you were just trying to be nice, weren't you?"
"Ruth," I said.
"It's all right, Carl. Thanks for everything. You'd better go, now."
I didn't go, of course. I couldn't after that. I lay down at her side, pulling her around facing me, holding her when she tried to pull away. And after a moment, she stopped trying; she was holding me twice as hard.
"Don't go away, Carl! Promise you won't go away! I've n-never had anyone, and if you went away I-"
"I won't," I said, "Not for a long time, anyway. I'm going to stay right here, Ruthie,"
"Was it g-g-" She was whispering, whispering and shivering, her face pressed close to mine. "Did you 1-like-me?"
"I-Look," I said. "I just don't think-"
"Please, Carl. P-please!" she said, and slowly she turned her body under mine. And there was just one way of telling her that it was all right.
It was all right. It was better than all right. I didn't look down at that little baby foot, and nothing could have been any better.
We went up to the bathroom together. Then I left the house and headed for the bakery.
It was a long one-story, buff brick building, about a block and a half up the street toward the business section. I passed up the offices, and went around to the side where a couple of guys were loading bread into trucks.
"Mr. Kendall?" One of them jerked his head at the side door. "He's probably in on the floor. Just keep going until you spot him."
I went in. I went down a long corridor, crowded with wire racks of bread, and came out into a big room where about fifty guys were working. Some of them where throwing long ropes of dough over hooks in the wall, throwing it and pulling it back and throwing it again. And others were carrying the dough away from the hooks and laying it out on long wooden tables.
One side of the room was made up of a row of brick ovens, and the guys working in front of them were stripped to the waist. They'd flick the door of the oven open, and reach inside with a kind of flat-bladed shovel; they'd reach about sixty times to the second, it looked like. I was watching them, thinking that that kind of work I could do without, when Mr. Kendall came up behind me.
"Well," he said, touching me on the arm. "What do you think of us, Mr. Bigelow?"
"It's quite a place," I said.
"Not completely modern," he said. "I mean, it's not mechanized to the extent that big-city bakeries are. But with help so cheap there's no reason why it should be."
I nodded. "I came over to explain about Ruth, Mr. Kendall. She had an accident on the way home at noon, and-"
"An accident! Was she badly hurt?"
"Just shaken up. Her crutch gave way under her, and she took a spill."
"The poor child! You're not in any hurry? Well, let's get out of this noise for a moment."
I followed him across the room, a fussy polite little guy in white overalls and a white sailor cap.
We entered another room, about a third of the size of the first one, and he pushed the connecting door shut. He boosted himself up on a table and gestured for me to sit beside him.
"It's clean, Mr. Bigelow. We don't keep flour in here, just the more or less precious commodities. Looks a little like a grocery store, doesn't it, with all these shelves?"
"Yeah," I said. "Now, about Ruth. I wanted to ask you-"
"You don't need to, Mr. Bigelow." He took out his pipe and began filling it. "Naturally, I won't say anything to Mrs. Winroy. But thank you for letting me know what the situation was."
"That's all right," I said, "I helped her set the rooms straight. I mean-"
I let my voice trail away, cursing myself. I didn't want anyone to know that I'd been through the rooms.
"Mmm," he nodded absent-mindedly. "I'm very glad you came over, Mr. Bigelow. As I said at noon. I don't want to appear presumptuous, but I've been thinking-uh-don't you believe that, instead of merely waiting around until you hear from the sheriff, it might be well for you to start putting roots down? In a word, don't you feel it would be sound psychology to demonstrate that there is not the slightest doubt in your own mind of the outcome of last night's unfortunate business?"
"Yeah?" I said. "I don't get you."
"I was referring to-" He paused. "Now that-your response just now-brings up something else I wanted to speak to you about. If, that is, you won't think I'm-uh-being-"
"Let's say, I won't," I said. "You're not being presumptuous. You just feel a friendly interest in me, and you want to give me a little fatherly advice."
I'd said it the right way, and there wasn't anything in my face to show that I didn't mean it.