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"You're getting off here, aren't you? We're almost there, you
know." As if I had given a signal, the train stopped.

"Yes, I realize that ... I've enjoyed talking to you a lot. Maybe
someday we can meet again." He covered his face with his hand.
"Thank you for ... for being so friendly."

Puzzled, I turned to get up but stepped out of the aisle to let two
policemen by. Suddenly, my mind cleared. All the clues fell into place.
I turned to my companion for the last time.

The policemen were already unlocking the chain which had held
his left hand bound to the back of the seat. The man across the aisle
was helping' him into his coat and then slipped on a pair of handcuffs.
Mr. Fletcher was smiling now and seemed eager to finish his story.

"Well, I didn't tell you any lies ... and I only left out one fact.
My destination is Alcatraz ... I didn't rescue my wife from the moun-
tain ... I murdered her."

GLASS

Do you walk deliberately before the looking glass,
Turn your head this way and that,
Smile a planned and artful smile,
And think it is yourself you see in there?
That chance reflection in the coffee pot
Which you can scarcely see because your eyes are full of sleep-
That is you.
And that transparent figure who surprises you from the shop window
As you hurry along the street,
Your hair a tangle in the wind and coat tails flapping-
That is you.
And the dim and wavering form
That stares your sorrow back at you
From watery eyes within some far and solitary lake
Where you have fled
To drown your sadness all alone-
That too is you,
But that, arranged before the looking glass
Is no more you
Than the house prepared for company is home.

MARY HENDREN

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