JOHNTOWN, TENN.
399
down in the valley had been opening and closing those squeaky silver
hinges. He hadn't crowded her, even if he did guess she had kind
thoughts and curious curiosities about Jack Harrick.
If
she didn't have very kind thoughts and specially curious curi–
osities, why was she here and not off with some snot-nose watching
the feature showing Lassie the Dog We Love or in a Chevrolet with
the feature showing Snot-Nose Tries to Come of Age? Why wasn't
she in the Chevrolet with Snot-Nose, whom any healthy
girl
of 110
pounds could keep out of the bureau of vital statistics with her left
hand, and not spooking along in the dark under the dogwoods, with
nobody to yell to if your foot slipped, spooking along beside a man
old as your father and one who by public report had never fought
in the Snot-Nose class since he took off short pants?
There was only one answer, as Jack Harrick, nigh breaking fifty
but not yet Old Jack, said to himself under the dogwood darkness.
A girl didn't go out with a man of that age, pride, and reputation un–
less she harbored kind thoughts, even if the man didn't look fifteen
years of his age, didn't have more gray hairs in his black sideburns
than you could count on your fingers, two hands to the side to be fair,
and, if he did have a little more girth than once, stiIl had a belly
flat as a washboard and with corrugations hard enough to scrub
clothes on.
Jack Harrick sucked his belly in as he walked beside her in the
dark, and felt pretty good. He knew things were going to roll his
way. But there was something about that Celia Hornby you had to
respect. He reckoned it was because she was sure of herself. He could
never abide a man who wasn't sure of himself, but had never had
to give the topic a thought in so far as women were concerned, for
simple instinct had led him to close in fast on those that weren't sure.
He didn't have any impulse to close in fast on Celia Hornby. He
never crowded her, even when she breathed shallow.
He walked along, with his gut sucked in, and felt twenty-five
years old, which he reckoned was a man's best time for performance
in most lines of worthwhile endeavor even if by then a man hasn't
had time to build a universal reputation to bask in between efforts.
They were moving quiet as a dream together on the soft grass by the
dogwoods, in the dark. They were dreaming the same dream no
doubt, but not dreaming it in the head, just letting their bodies dream
