the door, and I guess I look pretty grim, because she
says, "Cat will be all right, won't he, dear?"

"Yes." I go past her and down into my room and let Cat out of the basket
and then bury my head under the pillow. I'm not exactly ashamed of crying,
but I don't want Mom to hear.

After a while I pull my head out. Cat is lying there beside me, his eyes
half open, the tip end of his tail twitching very slowly. I rub my eyes on
the back of his neck and whisper to him, "I'm sorry. Be tough, Cat,
anyway, will you?"

Cat stretches and hops off the bed on his three good legs.

8

[Illustration: Dave and Mary buying tickets to West Side Story.]

WEST SIDE STORY

The regular park man got sunstroke or something, so I earned fourteen
dollars raking and mowing in Gramercy Park in the middle of August.
Gramercy Park is a private park. You have to own a key to get in, so the
city doesn't take care of it.

Real paper money, at this time of year especially, is very cheering. I
head up to Sam Goody's to see what records he's got on sale and what
characters are buying them. Maybe I'll buy something, maybe not, but as
long as I've got money in my pocket, I don't feel like the guy is glaring
at me for taking up floor space.

Along the way I walk through the library, the big one at Forty-second
Street. You go in by the lions on Fifth Avenue, and there's all kinds of
pictures and books on exhibit in the halls, and you walk through to the
back, where you can take out books. It's nice and cool, and nobody glares
at you unless you either make a lot of noise or go to sleep. I can take
books out of here and return them at the Twenty-third Street branch, which
is handy.

Sam Goody's is air-conditioned, so it's cool too. There are always several
things playing on different machines you can listen to. Almost the most
fun is watching the people: little, fat, bald guys buying long-haired
classical music, and thin, shaggy beatniks listening to the jazz.

I go to check if there are any bargains in the Kingston or Belafonte
division. There's a girl standing there reading the backs of records, but
I don't really catch a look at more than her shoes--little red flats they
are. After a bit she reaches for a record over my head and says, "Excuse
me."

"Sure." Then we catch each other's eye and