This Side of Paradise | Page 7

from the dim, chill air. Myra, a little
bundle of clothes, with strands of yellow hair curling out from under
her skating cap.
"Because I've got a crush, too" He paused, for he heard in the distance
the sound of young laughter, and, peering through the frosted glass
along the lamp-lit street, he made out the dark outline of the bobbing
party. He must act quickly. He reached over with a violent, jerky effort,
and clutched Myra's handher thumb, to be exact.
"Tell him to go to the Minnehaha straight," he whispered. "I wanta talk
to youI got to talk to you."
Myra made out the party ahead, had an instant vision of her mother,
and thenalas for conventionglanced into the eyes beside. "Turn down
this side street, Richard, and drive straight to the Minnehaha Club!" she
cried through the speaking tube. Amory sank back against the cushions
with a sigh of relief.
"I can kiss her," he thought. "I'll bet I can. I'll bet I can!" Overhead the
sky was half crystalline, half misty, and the night around was chill and
vibrant with rich tension. From the Country Club steps the roads
stretched away, dark creases on the white blanket; huge heaps of snow
lining the sides like the tracks of giant moles. They lingered for a

moment on the steps, and watched the white holiday moon.
"Pale moons like that one"Amory made a vague gesture"make people
mysterieuse. You look like a young witch with her cap off and her hair
sorta mussed"her hands clutched at her hair"Oh, leave it, it looks
good."
They drifted up the stairs and Myra led the way into the little den of his
dreams, where a cosy fire was burning before a big sink-down couch. A
few years later this was to be a great stage for Amory, a cradle for
many an emotional crisis. Now they talked for a moment about bobbing
parties.
"There's always a bunch of shy fellas," he commented, "sitting at the
tail of the bob, sorta lurkin' an' whisperin' an' pushin' each other off.
Then there's always some crazy cross-eyed girl"he gave a terrifying
imitation"she's always talkin' hard, sorta, to the chaperon."
"You're such a funny boy," puzzled Myra.
"How d'y' mean?" Amory gave immediate attention, on his own ground
at last.
"Oh always talking about crazy things. Why don't you come ski-ing
with Marylyn and I to-morrow?"
"I don't like girls in the daytime," he said shortly, and then, thinking
this a bit abrupt, he added: "But I like you." He cleared his throat. "I
like you first and second and third." Myra's eyes became dreamy. What
a story this would make to tell Marylyn! Here on the couch with this
wonderful-looking boy the little fire the sense that they were alone in
the great building
Myra capitulated. The atmosphere was too appropriate.
"I like you the first twenty-five," she confessed, her voice trembling,
"and Froggy Parker twenty-sixth."

Froggy had fallen twenty-five places in one hour. As yet he had not
even noticed it.
But Amory, being on the spot, leaned over quickly and kissed Myra's
cheek. He had never kissed a girl before, and he tasted his lips
curiously, as if he had munched some new fruit. Then their lips brushed
like young wild flowers in the wind. "We're awful," rejoiced Myra
gently. She slipped her hand into his, her head drooped against his
shoulder. Sudden revulsion seized Amory, disgust, loathing for the
whole incident. He desired frantically to be away, never to see Myra
again, never to kiss any one; he became conscious of his face and hers,
of their clinging hands, and he wanted to creep out of his body and hide
somewhere safe out of sight, up in the corner of his mind. "Kiss me
again." Her voice came out of a great void.
"I don't want to," he heard himself saying. There was another pause.
"I don't want to!" he repeated passionately.
Myra sprang up, her cheeks pink with bruised vanity, the great bow on
the back of her head trembling sympathetically.
"I hate you!" she cried. "Don't you ever dare to speak to me again!"
"What?" stammered Amory.
"I'll tell mama you kissed me! I will too! I will too! I'll tell mama, and
she won't let me play with you!"
Amory rose and stared at her helplessly, as though she were a new
animal of whose presence on the earth he had not heretofore been
aware.
The door opened suddenly, and Myra's mother appeared on the
threshold, fumbling with her lorgnette.
"Well," she began, adjusting it benignantly, "the man at the desk told
me you two children were up here How do you do, Amory." Amory

watched Myra and waited for the crashbut none came. The pout faded,
the high pink subsided, and