anything about ourselves he whipped out three sticks of tea and said to go ahead, supper’d be ready soon. “Ain’t nothing better in the world to give you an appetite. I once ate a horrible lunch cart hamburg’ on T and it seemed like the most delicious thing in the world. I just got back from Houston last week, went to see Kells about our cotton. I was sleeping in a motel one morning when all of a sudden I was blasted out of bed. This damned guy had just shot his wife in the room next to mine. Everybody stood around confused and the guy just got in his car and drove off, left the shotgun on the floor for the sheriff. They finally caught him in Houma, drunk as a Lord. Man ain't safe going around this country any more without a gun.” He pulled back his coat and showed us the rest of his arsenal. In New York he once had a machine gun under his bed. “I got something better than that now...a German Scheintot gas gun, look at this beauty, only got one shell. I could knock out a hundred men with this gun and have plenty of time to make a getaway. One thing wrong I only got one shell.” “I hope I’m not around when you try it” said Joan from the kitchen. “How do YOU know it’s a gas shell.” Bill snuffed; he never paid any attention to her sallies but he heard them. His relation with his wife was one of the strangest; they talked till late at night: Bill liked to hold the floor, he went right on in his dreary monotonous voice, she tried to break in, and never could; at dawn he got tired and then Joan talked and he listened snuffing down his nose. She loved that man madly, but in a mental delirious way of some kind; there was never any mooching and mincing around, just talk and after all a very deep companionship that none of us would ever be able to fathom. Something curiously unsympathetic and cold between them was really a form of humor by which they communicated their own set of subtle vibrations. Love is all; Joan was never more than ten feet away from Bill and never missed a word he said, and he spoke in a very low voice too. Neal and I were yelling about a big night in New Orleans and wanted Bill to show us around. he threw a damper on this. “New Orleans is a very dull town. It’s against the law to go to the colored section. The