accepted offices of the bob. Eddie looked at her ankles. They were slim and girlish. Perfectly normal. Some women acquired swollen ankles during pregnancy, Eddie knew. He remembered Dr. Stewart's concern lest her hands and feet swell. Oh, she was probably all right. He was just full of imagination.
The roof was dark and deserted. There were no stars, and a cloud, glumly silver, betrayed the moon's hiding-place. There was going to be rain in a few hours, and the air, heavy and sulky, resented the approaching storm.
Dot walked to the edge of the roof and peered over the low wall. The street lay alone suffering the heat. No one was strolling tonight toward the movies or the pool room. This was a holiday. People were at the beaches or at lavishly decorated dances. The older folks were probably listening to the Convention or permitting the threat of rain to keep them to their living-rooms.
The voice of Senator Walsh reached Dot and Eddie from a dozen loud speakers. Everybody in Inwood who owned a radio set listened to the Convention.
Some one didn't have a radio set. A girl with a frail, thrilling voice who had the apartment right under the front part of the roof was playing a piano and singing the wistful, haunting melody that had struck New York so short a time before.
Are far away?
What'll I do? What'll I do?
What'll I do?"
A sudden chill hit Dot. Far away. Somebody was wondering what they would do when they were left alone. Far away. What did that mean? California? Hawaiian Territory? Perhaps farther. Perhaps a place from which there was no return.
