Morrow lashed out. The back of his hand smacked across the little man's
mouth. "Beat it," he said huskily. "Beat it, you damned little shrimp."
Pete stared at him for a moment, then turned slowly and walked away.
Instantly, Mart Sumter came stalking across the lab. Sumter was big,
broad-shouldered, with muscles bulging against his stained smock. He
stopped in front of Morrow, his fists clenched.
"If I ever see you do that again," he said softly, "I'll give you the
worst beating you've ever had in your life!"
Morrow returned his angry glare, then whirled and went back to his work.
"You heard me, didn't you?" Sumter's breath whispered on his neck.
"I heard you," Morrow rasped.
"Don't forget it." Then Sumter strode away.
Morrow grinned shakily. He was certainly getting what he deserved!
* * * * *
At home, an idea was rapidly taking on form and dimension in his mind.
He set up his drafting board, collected his inks, and worked doggedly
through the night, etching out diagrams that showed--theoretically, at
least--how his idea would work.
At midnight, he would show up at Switzer's Cafe to walk Gwyn home.
The nights were cool and pleasant, with deep shadows along the
tree-lined streets and the street lights filtering through the
treetops, dappling the silent fronts of the houses. They strolled
along, slowly, their arms around each other, Gwyn's body pressed close
to his.
"I like a small town," Gwyn murmured softly, one night. "'Specially at
night--so peaceful, so cozy."
"I like the dark," Morrow said.
"Why?"
"I don't know. It changes things. It's a different world."
She looked up at him, wonderingly. "I think of a small town. You think
of a different world. Why is that, Bill?"
"You're tired, maybe." He grinned down at her. "You've been on your
feet eight hours."
"That makes me think of a small town?"
"Contentment," he said. "Small towns are contented."
"And a different world--that's exciting, isn't it?"
"Sometimes it's dangerous."
"I see." She was quiet for a while. Then, "I never asked you where you
were from, did I?"
"No."
"Small town? Or city." The latter held conviction.
He chuckled. "You're not even warm! Casa Verde, Arizona. A cluster
of shacks in the middle of a desert, with sand-stone cliffs rising
like mountains of the moon everywhere you looked, and black buzzards
circling in a hot, brassy sky--"