his pajamas and get-it-and remember about the key to the door, take it with him so's he could get back in. He knew where the place was, where he was going; it was only three blocks over there, on Main Street. Wouldn't take long, if nobody saw-or if This was the only way to do it if he was going to, and the worst of that was it didn't seem like such a good idea now, a kind of silly idea really but he couldn't think of anything else at all, without breaking the promise, doing the one unforgivable thing. He'd tried this morning, he'd waited until she was busy in the kitchen, thought he could pick-it-up and call out good-by and go off quick, before- But it'd gone wrong, he wasn't quick enough; and she'd come in, looked awful queer at him-funny, a bit frightened-and said sharp, 'What you up to, still fooling round here?-you'll be late for school, you go 'long now,' and he'd had to go, with her watching. So now he was waiting until there'd be nobody awake to see.
And maybe it was silly, it wouldn't make anything happen. Cops, he thought confusedly: but he did remember Dad saying, all new scientific things and like that, they were a lot smarter and some real high educated now, from college. It might Cops. He didn't like loud voices and people getting so mad they hit each other. It made him feel hollow and bad inside-in the movies you knew it was just put on, and when you were interested in the story you didn't mind so much, but even there sometimes it made you feel kind of upset. That was the first time, tonight, he'd seen Danny's dad-since he'd come with them. Danny didn't seem to be ashamed at all, tell his dad had been in jail back east, said it like it was something to brag about, but that was how Danny was. Marty sure didn't think he could be much of a dad to brag on, jail or no jail.
He shut his eyes and just like a movie saw it over again-himself going up the stairs to Danny's apartment, as if he wanted go to the movies with him, Ma'd given him thirty cents, said he could go-and the loud voice swearing inside, ' Cops! You think I can't smell a cop?-yeah, yeah, you say that to me before, so you walk right past a couple the bastards outside an' never see 'em more'n if they was-listen, what the hell you been up to, bringin' cops down on the place-'
And Danny, shrill, 'I never done nothing, I-'
'Don't talk back t' me, you little bastard-I ain't fool enough to think, him-I got him too damn scared! If I hadn't spotted them damned-might've walked right into- What the hell else could they be after, watching the house? Couldn't've traced me here-you been up to some o' your piddling kid stuff, heisting hubcaps or somethin', an' they-'
'I never- Listen, I-'
And the noise of fists hitting, Danny yelling, and something falling hard against the door-Danny, he guessed, because then it opened and Danny sort of fell out and banged it after him and kicked it. It was dark in the hall, Marty had backed off a ways, and Danny didn't see him. Danny leaned on the wall a minute there, one hand up to the side of his face, maybe where his dad had hit him-it looked like his nose was bleeding too-and Marty thought he was crying, only Danny never did, he wasn't that kind. And then the door opened again and Mr. Smith came out.
A tough-looking man he was like crooks in the movies, and there in the room behind that was just like the living room in the place Marty lived a floor down, was Danny's ma, he'd seen her before, of course, a little soft- looking lady with a lot of black hair, and she looked scared and kept saying, 'Oh, please, Ray, it's not his fault, please don't, Ray.'
'Oh, for God's sake, I ain't going' do nothing! So all right, kid, maybe I got my wires crossed an' it's somethin' else-hope to God it is-but listen, come here, you gotta go and do that phone call for me, see, I can't-'
Danny yelled at him, 'Be damned if I will, bastard yourself!' and kicked at his shins and bolted for the stairs as the man snarled at him.
Marty had crept back even farther toward the dark end of the hall; Mr. Smith didn't see him either. He made as if to go after Danny, stopped, said, 'Oh, hell!' and went back into the apartment.
And Marty slid past the shut door and downstairs, but he didn't see Danny anywhere on the block. He wondered if Danny was hurt bad, his dad looked pretty strong. And if he'd ever hit Danny like that before-probably so, if he got mad that way a lot. For a minute, thinking about it, Marty felt some better himself, because maybe his own dad had gone away and left them, but he'd sure never, ever, hit him or said bad things to him-or anybody. Marty's dad, he always said it beat all how some fellows were all the time getting mad, you always sure as fate did something dumb or wrong when you was mad because you couldn't think straight. There was only a couple of times Marty could remember his whole life when Dad had got real mad, and then he didn't swear or yell, why, he'd never heard Dad say a damn, he was right strict about swearing. He didn't talk an awful lot any time, but when he was mad he didn't say anything at all.
He'd been awful mad, that last time-that night before he went away. Just didn't come home.
And on that thought, everything it made him remember, Marty stopped feeling better, and stopped wondering why Mr. Smith was so mad at Danny, what he'd been talking about.
He hadn't gone to the movies after all. It was a kind of crook picture and he didn't much want to see it really, though if he'd been with some other fellows he'd've had to pretend he did because it was the kind of thing everybody was supposed to like.
And now he was sitting here in the dark, alone with the secret, waiting for it to be time. And remembering, now, what Mr. Smith had said about cops. Cops outside, watching the house. Something funny happened inside Marty's stomach, like he'd gone hollow, and his heart gave an extra thud. Were they?-was it, was it because You had to do what was right, no matter what. Even if it meant you'd die, like in the gas thing they had in California. He knew, and he didn't see how his Ma could think a different way, it wasn't right people should get killed-like that- even if he hadn't ever meant, ever known even- Somebody ought to know, and stop it happening again. That was why he was sitting here cold and scared, waiting. Somebody. He hadn't exactly thought, the cops-but of course that was what he'd meant. And all of a sudden now, thinking about them maybe outside, cops meant something different, terrible, to be more scared of than anything-anything he knew more about…
Sometimes in the movies yelling at guys and hitting them and a thing called the third degree-the gas chamber in California-but once Dad had said, about one of those movies Marty'd told about, that was bad to show, it was wrong because policemen weren't like that at all any more, that was other times. A bright light they had shining right in your eyes and they- But Dad said Marty shut his eyes tight and tried to get back to that place, couldn't remember how long ago or if it was Tappan Street or Macy Avenue, where there'd been Dad just like always, sitting at the kitchen table, digging out his pipe with his knife and looking over the top of his glasses and saying-and saying-something about policemen being your friends, to help you.
He couldn't get there, to Dad that time. There he got to instead was that night before Dad-didn't come home. He was right there again, he saw Dad plain, awful mad he'd been for sure, his face an stiff and white and a look in his eyes said how hard he was holding himself in. Dad saying slow and terrible quiet, 'I can't stand no more, Marion-I just can't stand no more.'
And Marty knew right this minute just how Dad had felt when he said that. Because he felt the same way, not all of a sudden but like as if he'd only this minute come to know how he felt, plain.
I just can't stand no more.
He relaxed, limp, against the headboard, and a queer vague peace filled him. Like coming to the end of a long, long walk, like getting there-some place-at last, and he could stop trying any more.
It didn't matter what place, or what happened there. It was finished. I just can't stand no more.
The gas, and the cops whatever kind and whatever they did or didn't do, and even-more immediate and terrible-his Ma, and what would happen afterward, when she found out. Anything, everything, nothing, it wasn't anyways important any more.
Something had to happen, and what did it matter what or how? Maybe there were those cops doivn there, even two or three o'clock in the morning, and they'd see him, when he came out with-it-and take him to the police station. Maybe not; some other way, the way he'd thought or-maybe they already knew, he couldn't see how but they might. And in the end maybe they'd make him break the promise. It didn't matter how it came: he knew it would come, and it was time, he didn't care.
Time for the secret to be shown open, the terrible secret.
When Morgan finally moved, he was stiff with cold and the sense of failure, a resignation too apathetic now to rouse anger in him. He bad known hall an hour ago that Smith wasn't coming. Why he'd gone on standing here he
