She did roam around the house during the afternoon because she could not get settled. Some days were just like that. For ohing the thought of the violi w her. She could never have made it like a real one—and after all those weeks of planning the very thought of it made her sick. But
how could she have been so sure the idea would work? So dumb? Maybe when people longed for a thing that bad the longing made them trust in anything that might give it to them.
Mick did not want to go bato the rooms where the family stayed. And she did not want to have to talk to any of the boarders. No place was left but the street—and there the sun was to hot. She wandered aimlessly up and down the hall a pushing back her rumpled hair with the palm of her hand. Hell, she said aloud to herself. o a real piano I sure would rather have some playself than anything I know.』
That Portia had a certain kind of niggery craziness, but she was O.K. She never would do anythio Bubber or Ralph on the sly like some cirls. But Portia had said that she never loved anybody. Mick stopped walk-ing and stood very still, rubbing her fist oop of her head.
What would Portia think if she really knew? Just what would she think？
She had always kept things to herself. That was one sure truth.
Mick went slowly up the stairs. She passed the first landing a on to the sed. Some of the doors were open to make a draught and there were many sounds in the house.
Mick stopped on the last flight of stairs and sat down. If Miss Brown turned on her radio she could hear the music. Maybe some goram would e on.
She put her head on her knees and tied knots irings of her tennis shoes. What would Portia say if she khat always there had been one person after another? And every time it was like some part of her would bust in a hundred pieces.
But she had always kept it to herself and no person had ever known.
Mick sat oeps a long time. Miss Brown did not turn on her radio and there was nothing but the hat people made. She thought a long time a hittihighs with her fists. Her face felt like it was scattered in pieces and she could not keep it straight. The feeling was a whole lot worse than being hungry for any dinner, yet it was like that. I want—I want—I want—was all that she could think about—but just
what this real want was she did not know.
After about an hour there was the sound of a doorknob being turned on the landing above. Mick looked up quickly and it was Mister Singer. He stood in the hall for a few minutes and his face was sad and calm. Then he went across to the bathroom. His pany did not e out with him. From where she was sitting she could see part of the room, and the pany was asleep on the bed with a sheet pulled over him.
She waited for Mister Sio e out of the bathroom.
Her cheeks were very hot and she felt them with her hands.
Maybe it was true that she came up oop steps sometimes so she could see Mister Singer while she was listening to Miss Browns radio on the floor below. She wondered what kind of music he heard in his mind that his ears couldnt hear. Nobodyknew. And what kind of things he would say if he could talk.
Nobody khat either.
Mick waited, and after a while he came out into the hall again.
She hoped he would look down and smile at her. And then whe to his door he did glance down and nod his head.
Micks grin was wide and trembling. He went into his room and sh