Was

bounced up and down on the big seat.

'It'll be cooler when we get going,' said her father. He pushed open the windshield in front, so that the air could blow in. The Buick had a little metal awning that hung out over the windshield like the brim of a hat. The hood was dusty again.

'We'll wash the car tomorrow,' announced Frances.

'And I'll turn the hose on you.'

'No,' said Frances. She loved washing the car and being hosed down in the heat. Janie reached forward and scratched the top of Frances's head. It was a familiar game.

'Don't,' said Frances and pretended to slap her hand away. Janie did it again. Frances squealed. 'Don't!'

Her father turned the key in the car and it started the first time, with a low rumble and a delicious smell of gas fumes. The Buick pulled away, with Frances giggling as both sisters tickled her from behind.

Daddy always drove quickly, to get the air moving. Suddenly the car roared and shot forward. It sped along Antelope Avenue, a current of air pouring in through the open window. Frances stood up on the seat to feel the wind on her face. The wind seemed to make her eyes shake. She saw the low flat buildings shivering past them, out to where Lancaster straggled to an end. It was late afternoon, and the shadows were long. The hills seemed to have more shape in the low slanting light, their clefts and gullies full of blue shadow, their crags kissed pink. The high desert looked more gentle, less bleak and blasted.

'Daddy, be careful!' said Mary Jane.

Frances realized something was wrong.

The car was going faster and faster, and Frances's father had a strange, set expression on his face, and his eyes looked gray and blank. He looked angry, Frances giggled to make him turn to her with his eyes that could be so gentle. He didn't. Frances began to sing-that almost always worked. But her father kept staring ahead and his face stayed grim, and the car kept roaring forward.

A jackrabbit suddenly darted across the road. Her father blinked and tried to swerve, and the car skidded around on the sand and gravel that had blown onto the road. Mary Jane screamed. The car turned right around in the middle of the road. Thrown sideways, Frances was lifted up and hurled onto her father's lap. The car stopped.

Silence and sudden settling heat. Frances could feel her father. He was shaking. He put his hands on her head, as if trying to cushion it. 'Sorry, girls,' he murmured. He helped Frances sit up and started up the car again. It coughed and shuddered. Very slowly, carefully, he turned the car around in a wide arc, back into its lane, back toward the town.

Frances stood up on the seat again. 'Faster, Daddy, faster!' she said. Wordlessly, looking ahead, her father reached out and gently made her sit. The car moved slowly home.

One side of Antelope Avenue was lined with telephone poles, the other with tamarisk trees that made long, cool shadows. A woman walked under them. The car slowed and stopped, and Frank Gumm wound the window down, prepared, as he must be, to talk a spell. He always said if you were in business, you had to set and talk a spell with folks. Frances thought it meant he talked magic.

They didn't know the woman. She looked quizzical as the car crept up to her. Frances's father stuck his head out of the window and said loudly, too soon, to reassure her, 'Hello, Mrs. Story, I don't believe we've met.' He leaned out of the window, resting his arms on the sill of the car door. 'I'm Frank Gumm.'

'Oh,' she said, surprised. 'Hello, Mr. Gumm. Pleased to meet you.' Her eyes flickered over him. Mr. Gumm was wearing a sporty checked cap and sporty checked jacket that didn't quite match, and without doubt was also wearing golf trousers with long checked socks up to the knees. 'How did you know it was me?' she asked.

Frank Gumm grinned widely. 'Just a process of elimination, Mrs. Story. Mrs. Abbot tells me you haven't been to see the show and you're one of the few folks around here I haven't spoken to yet. Can I offer you some free tickets?'

Definitely sporty, Mrs. Story seemed to think. A plump little man done up to look like he plays golf. 'Well, I hardly…'

'These are my little girls, Mary Jane, my oldest, and Virginia-we all call her Jinny-and Baby Frances. They're the ones who do all the work.'

Mrs. Story still looked uncertain. Frances thought she would pep her up.

'Howdy, Mrs. Story. I like your hat!' In fact she did. It was a nice felt cloche like Mom wore.

'Frances,' murmured Janie, embarrassed.

'Well, thank you, honey,' said Mrs. Story.

'It's a good, clean family show, Mrs. Story,' smiled Frank. 'And it's the coolest spot in the valley. When it's one hundred degrees out here, it's seventy inside my movie house.'

'Well, it is hot, Mr. Gumm, I won't deny.'

'Now you just do me a favor and take two of these, Mrs. Story. Good for any night of the week, just come and visit and take in the show when there's something on you want to see.'

The tickets were held out.

'Well…' Mrs. Story took them. 'Thank you very much, Mr. Gumm.'

'Terrible name, isn't it? Frank Gumm. Just remember. Honest and sticky.'

'Daddy, don't say that,' said Janie, wincing.

'I'm sure I will remember, Mr. Gumm,' said Mrs. Story, looking at the tickets.

'And say hello to Mrs. Abbot for me.'

'Will do. Thank you for the tickets.'