Capitol, free verse, and the book of Job. There were really no limits to Jane’s enthusiasms. She spoke again of the percolator. “It’s as nice as a kettle on the hob, isn’t it?”

[10]Young Baldwin read on.

[10]

“I simply love breakfast,” she continued.

“Is there anything you don’t love, Janey?” with a touch of irritation.

“Yes.”

“What?”

“You.”

He stared at her over the top of the sheet. “I like that!”

“Well, you won’t talk to me, Baldy. It isn’t my fault if you hate the world.”

“No, it isn’t.” He laid down the paper. “But I’ll tell you this, Janey, I’m about through.”

She caught her breath, then flung out, “Oh, you’re not. Be a good sport, Baldy. Things are bound to come your way if you wait.”

He gave a short laugh and rose. “I wish I had your optimism.”

“I wish you had.”

They faced each other, looking for the moment rather like two young cockerels. Jane’s bobbed hair emphasized the boyish effect of her straight, slim figure. Baldy towered above her, his black hair matching hers, his eyes, too, matching—gray and lighted-up.

Jane was the first to turn her eyes away. She looked at the clock. “You’ll be late.”

He got his hat and coat and came back to her. “I’m a blamed sorehead. Give me a kiss, Janey.”

She gave it to him, and clung to him for a moment.[11] “Don’t forget to bring a steak home for dinner,” was all she said, but he was aware of the caress of those clinging fingers.

[11]

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