"He's in the oil business … leases and royalties, drilling oil wells … something like that." He shrugged his shoulders. "He's sure made money, but he's worked awfully hard too. Wants me to get interested in it but I don't like it a bit. So darn boring."
"Making money to buy cars like this doesn't sound boring to me."
To be an oil man: He'd rather enter a dark room and die than submit to that. He understood his reasons well enough. He had much to hide from the type of men his father worked with, for one thing. Second, his superiority complex was something that was terrifying. Third, the strange feeling he always got seeing the men changing their clothes at quitting time. Fourth, their language was completely distant. To be left alone, Gaylord knew that was the only way out for him. Around strangers with words and names for everything, anything might happen. And perversely enough, Rogers was now saying, "I guess you've got to be hard-boiled and rough to get anywhere in the oil business. I don't think I could do it."
"I know I couldn't."
"I bet you could …"
"I couldn't and it's no use kidding myself …"
They were on a wide paved street, and the harsh glitter of sunlight reflected from the car hood and danced over the chrome trimmings. Gaylord felt good behind the wheel and Rogers was enjoying the different gadgets, asking the purpose of each one. Gaylord complained about a rattle behind the dash and Rogers tried to find it.
"Can't, Gay," he said, his head beneath the dash. "I can't locate it … It's not too bad, is it?"
"No … leave it alone. You'll get dirty under there."
"In this pretty car?"
Gaylord laughed as Rogers returned to his seat. "Do you like hamburgers, Glenn?"
"Sure do. And I'm sure hungry." He rubbed his flat stomach.
"We'll go over to the Roxy. They make good ones there. Is that all right with you?"
Rogers didn't know where or what the Roxy was but he never asked. He said that would be fine. They turned down another street, one he had never been on before, and he saw it. It was a small but
