I need not tell you about the rest. You know how congenial, how satisfying the after-game party was, a network of warm friendships, a hubbub of excited, laughing conversations, laced through with the bracing stimulation of hot rum punch. You know also what their dinner was like, the chicken cacciatore, the wine, the one candle filling their flushed faces with flickering figments of fantasy. You know what the play was like, the hurrying into seats, the white furs and black satin lapels, the amiable crowd in the lobby at intermission. But then you don't know what transpired in the car as they parked on a hill overlooking Boston, and I wont' tell you. The tender togetherness of young lovers can be shared with no one.

Lunchy

At last, warmed and exhilarated, a little exhausted, Rocko and Tubeless stood together on the veranda of Briggs Hall, Radcliffe, still murmuring snatches of Harvard songs, chuckling quietly, rubbing noses, and displaying similar bits of lunchy sentimentality. Rocko ran his nose along her forehead, savoring the fragrance of her clean blond hair, watching the darkness of the Briggs Hall veranda. It was only then that he noticed another couple, embracing. The girl seemed to be resisting, and as she turned her head away from her escort, Rocko heard her speak: "Oh don't, Hubert. Please, Hubert. Don't ruin it." Rocko noticed that the boy wore ratty clothes, and his trousers were too short. His socks were disappearing into his torn sneakers.

Five weeks before, Hubert Blemish had dialed Briggs Hall, smiling apologetically at the neighbor whose phone he was using.

Hubert scratched his side. He had had a haircut, and he itched all over. Briggs Hall was busy, so he hung up and sat scratching himself with both hands. Hubert was not very imposing at first glance, but after watching him for a few minutes you would decide that he was not imposing at all. His clothes had a slept-in look, and it was obvious that his laundry was late again. Hubert was majoring in fine arts because he wanted to be an interior decorator. Interior decoration begins at home, you might comment after seing Hubert, but he would not care about your opinion.

Hubert dialed four numbers, scratched the side of his big nose, and dialed three more.

"Briggs Hall, good evening."

"Uh, hello, Uh, uh-Uh, I forgot the name of the girl. Gee whiz. Maybe I should hang up and call back."

"Is that you, Hubert? It's lucky I'm on bells, or you'd never find me. For the last time, my name is Mary Jane Brown. Got it? Mary Jane Brown. Now what was on your mind?"

"Oh, uh, hello, Mary Jane. Say, how the hell are you?"

"Fine. What's on your mind, Hubert?"

"Well, uh, what are you doing Friday night?"

"I have a date."

"Saturday?"

"I have a date then, too."