The Barrier... (Continued from, page 6) wonders, sir. Mother'll have lunch soon, and well get back, uh directly," he said. "Yes, of course, my boy. Take the car and take your time. Just so we leave by sundown." "If it weren't journey's end for me, we'd be leaving right now," Phillip said, taking Elinor's arm and turning toward the door. As the car sped along the narrow streets of the little town, Phillip glibly described the interiors of the many uniform, box-like houses, their cheap rentals, their ownership and the ownership of everything else, water rights, farms, power lines, railroad by the Company. The Company, he insisted, was the all-pervading god to the mining folk, paying them pitiable wages, and taking everything back for provisions at the company store. Fortunately, he added to soothe his conscience, his father had been a mill boss, and the family hadn't had to live in one of the smaller houses. In fact, Phillip himself, he observed facetiously, had been able to wear corduroy breeches to school instead of the conventional denim of the miners' children. As a matter of fact, his father had been a most lowly hard-rock miner whose "pay-day drunks" were still a local tradition. And Phillip had worn "overalls" all during his attendance at common school. But he would rather have died than admit it. He turned to see how well she was listening, noting her apt concentration. The little snub nose with what Thomas Mann would have called a "saddle of freckles" or what Conrad Aiken would have termed a "constellation" how charming. He checked an impulse to lean over and take that saucy nose between his lips. Overtly he checked her charms, all the while conscious of the tingling sensation at the base of his spine. Why couldn't he blurt it out now? How did one begin? So sentimental! One cried, "I love you!" Unbearable, disgusting! College boy jargon? "Babe, I'm nuts about you!" Worse! Worse! He shook his head in a welter of futility. Perhaps at the Barrier he could bring himself to declare it. He resolved. He'd do it, so help him. And if she responded properly? No need to feel for the diamond an extravagance of two-months' allowance in his vest pocket. And he'd chance Aunt Cynthia's wrath and go right on to San Francisco with her and her parents. Lucky people! A summer at the Pacific beaches, while he, at his aunt's urging, would leave their company here to spend a sweltering Nevada summer, to endure his mother's puttering. But at the Barrier how would he say it? The Barrier, scene of his earliest resolves, his vicarious triumphs. His mind flashed back in catalogued fashion over all his "romantic experiences," as he called them in his journal. Mariame, his first social partner, had been cast aside because she thought Tchaikovski was "cute"! Another had been dismissed after she had run crying to the Ladies' Room of a ballroom, objecting to the odor of a smart cocktail drunk in the most elfin and arty tradition, in the most cosmopolitan company. Helen had been abandoned quickly and completely because she modeled her conduct after that of the heroines in those perfectly stupid movies, and, in a most unladylike fashion, had once stuck wads of chewing gum to the bottom of a cafe table. Nowhere in his amorous history, however, could he remember any serious avowals. But, he sighed, he'd declare his affection somehow. Her father's factory loomed into his thoughts she's an only child, and factories are profitable. Elinor had been concentrating, no doubt, but not as Phillip had expected, upon the glibness of her escort's tongue. Rather her intent brown eyes were focused on the radio dial on the dashboard of the machine. Dared she risk his wrath? Maurice Melville and his Melodeers, broadcasting from Cafe de Champs-Elysee on San Francisco Bay? The small dial of her wrist watch told her it was just time for them. She resisted. No use upsetting Phillip. Why did he object to "Phil?" (One mustn't forget my 'lip,' he had told her.) Phill-ip full-lip she mused. He's such a funny. Oh, soon! Soon! She thought. San Francisco, pleasant sounding word, only six-hundred miles away. Drive all night, Dad'd have to, arrive tomorrow night. And Janice would be coming on in July. Three months! Ninety days of sand and bathing, the Melodeers, one long round of parties! And oh, the clothes she would buy! A moment's serious reflection brought Elinor to the surprising conclusion that what had frightened her last year now took on more glamour than any anticipated time she could remember, even those childhood summers on her uncle's horse ranch. Did Verne have anything to do with it? The State University wasn't good enough for him, he went away to school. And she'd be sure to see him, Janice's brother. Troubled images of large biceps, abdominal muscles seen in the spray of the surf. And such a sunburn! Last summer had been such fun after she'd shed her bashfulness. Timidity was an innate part of Elinor, and she was so afraid people would see that she was timid. That's why she had fastened so irrevocably to Phillip during last year at school. She hadn't liked him at all at first, so cocky and mean. But she'd been afraid to refuse him after he'd dismissed a bid from the Sigma's with such utter disdain and indifference. The girls all buzzing about him, and he'd become such fun. After that he'd just become a habit. She glanced his way, saw his set eyes. He's brooding again, she thought. I'd best please him. How? He was so hard to get used to. She remembered with some disgust his one attempt at "being romantic." It had been early spring and the lilacs were blooming. Elinor had just missed being elected chairman of the Coed's Canter by ten votes. She'd been so upset. She'd cried all over her new taffeta. He had been a dear, holding her against him on the steps of the House, saying "You'll always be my little chairman," followed by a light kiss. She'd begun to pull him to the lawn swing. But no, he must run off to Harry Langhurst and the "fellows" for a tea and a talk. Such disgusting friends! Harry with watery eyes always around the boys, never seen with a girl, and that James boy, always with his nose in a book, or wriitng "Robinson Jeffers: the New Trend in Poetry," or something equally unintelligible. "Phillip," she asked, knowing it would please him, "what did old Beaver mean when he said that you were the only dilletante in school?" Phillip laughed, more at her pronunciation of the final "e" than in vanity at being reminded of his aestheticism. "Elinor, I'd like to be going on with you to the Coast," he said explosively, ignoring her question. "Oh, yes!" she exclaimed. {Continued on page 19) SIXTEEN "SUNLIT MADONNA" budd johnson SEVENTEEN