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His face hardened. "Is that am" he asked. "I thought ... " He
stopped. "Well, never mind what I thought." He disengaged her
hand from his coat sleeve.

"Douglas, listen to what I'm saying. Dougie is not at home." She
spoke each word separately and distinctly to try to impress them on his
mind.

Douglas looked at her, exasperated. "And what's so terrible about
that?" He too spoke slowly as if explaining to a dull child. "Dougie
is probably over at some friend's house playing baseball or watching
television or any of a dozen things."

"He is not," Sheila slung back. "He never goes anywhere before
supper. He helps me set the table then."

Douglas spread his arms helplessly. "Don't you see now what I
mean, Sheila? Can't you imagine that a healthy boy might prefer
playing baseball to setting the table." He turned earnest eyes to her.
"For his sake, Sheila, let him live."

"Live? How can you talk about living? He's probably dead on
some street corner now."

Douglas grasped her by the shoulders hard. His fingernails dug
into her flesh. "Let's cut the dramatics and be realistic. The facts of
the matter are that the kid's only been gone a few minutes and," he
spat out the words contemptuously, "you have him dead."

Sheila tried to explain. "But I told you, Douglas. He never
leaves at this time. He always-"

"Yes, J know," Douglas exploded, "he always sets the table for
you!" He clenched his fist. "Damn it, Sheila. Maybe he felt like being
a boy for a change instead of a-," he stopped, ashamed. "I'm sorry,"
he apologized.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Say whatever you like. I've ceased
to care what you say or think-long ago." She turnecl from him. "Take
your walk, Mr. Warren. I'll try to have your dinner ready when you
decide to return." She marched stiffly away.

"Sheila ... " Douglas began, staring at her retreating figure. He
stood a moment, immobile, shook his head slowly and crossed the
street.

The house seemed cold and empty when Sheila came in. She walk-
ed into the kitchen, looking for signs of Dougie. She glanced at the
unset table. Lying there were her pocketbook and the stack of test
papers. Several were on the floor.

"Then Dougie was in here," Sheila said aloud. He had brought
in the papers and purse and had left-evidently in a hurry. But why?

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