"Shall I get some chairs?" Bob stood apart from the others at a far corner of the stage.

"Oh, thanks, Bob, yes." Zoe smiled at him.

Reece said, "What's wrong with sitting on the apron?"

He nudged Nelson, walked to the curved edge of the stage and sat down. The others followed, Irving spreading his jacket for the girls because the stage was dusty. Bob watched them.

"I think you'll soon tire of that," Zoe told them. "You go ahead and get some chairs, Bob."

He blundered through the rear curtains into the shadows backstage. Groping around, he stumbled over a stack of folded metal chairs piled against the wall. Elbows out, the tin backs cutting into his hands, he lugged four chairs on stage and set them up, clattering them in his efforts to be quiet. After fetching another four he stood by them and cleared his throat.

"All right," Zoe said, "everybody take a chair." She retrieved her scarlet jacket and shiny black handbag and trotted up the stage. She gave Bob a quick hug before she sat down.

"Now, then, read on from there, bottom of page five, where the Postman

says-

"They's five different parties a-gettin' mail here today." Dave Reece simulated an elderly rustic. "And yesterday the place was vacant." He scratched his short-cropped colorless hair.

And in the fine warm spring morning air the rehearsal of the High School players of the Sierra Grove Department of Recreation went forward, voices echoing in the empty sunlit hall, with now and then a comment from the director.

"Oh, come on, Maxine, now let's have a real laugh there . . . Irving, remember you're a big, pompous real estate agent, smoking a cigar, putting over a deal, so let's have some bombast . . . Dave, I wish you and Dick wouldn't talk; it makes it so hard for the others. And, always tenderly, helpfully, "Bob, you're mumbling again. Now, Peter's quite the dashing young blade and knows it. So come on, flash that smile. Let's have a little Tony Curtis here."

After their deluxe hamburgers, double Cokes and hot fudge sundaes in the chromium and blue glitter of the drive-in near the school, Reece and Nelson crumpled up their paper napkins, lit cigarettes, paid their checks and strolled out into the sunlight. They slid on to the sleek front seat of the new Nelson Chrysler and let the heavy doors click quietly closed beside them. Reece relaxed, letting his head loll back, eyes shut, while Nelson turned the switch of the radio and glanced at him.

"Anything you want to do?"

"Shall we ride out to the Palisades?"

This meant a comfortably air conditioned tour along winding back country roads among tree-shaded hills to the green meadows at the cliff's edge where they could laze away the afternoon talking and staring out at the smooth blue of the Pacific.

"Have to buy gas," Nelson said, "and I loaded up on records Saturday. I'm broke."

"So am I," Reece said without opening his eyes. "How about going to your place and listening to what you bought?"