“Get out of here,” Barbara whispered.
Verne blinked. “Get out?” His head turned slowly until he was looking in Carl’s direction. “You see? Now it’s too late. Sponsor has withdrawn her offer. That’s too bad. I tried to help you. But you wouldn’t listen while you had the chance. Now it’s too late. You should have let me talk to you. This is a good place to start. I’m sorry. As good as any there are. Good place for a young man.”
“Something’s going to happen,” Barbara said tightly.
“Happen? It’s already happened. One came today. I had a long talk with him. Nice little fellow. Like a snake. Iron. Iron and blood. Nice little guy.” All at once he roused himself. His face became hard. He fixed his gaze on Carl. “You know what I came here for? I came here to warn you. Something very important.”
“Warn me?”
“To warn you not to. It’s not safe. I’ve been thinking it over.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s bad. Forget the whole thing. Let’s go. We’ll go back. It’s not safe.” Verne had risen to his feet. “Carl, I want to tell you more about her. I was just about your age. Ellen. Came from a good family in the Middle West. Golden hair. Hot little bitch. Be careful. They’ll destroy you. There won’t be anything left of you. Once they get hold of you they’ll eat you up. I know. They’ll use you up. You better come away. If she lets you in she’ll never let you out.”
Carl’s face had gone sickly white. He moved unsteadily toward Verne.
Barbara screamed. Carl grabbed hold of Verne. He dragged him across the room to the door, his face a dull mask.
“Carl!” Barbara ran in front of him. Carl pushed her out of the way with his shoulder. He kicked the door open. Verne’s head sagged. He collapsed, limp and dangling, like a bundle of rags. His glasses fell to the floor.
Carl threw him out into the hall. Verne crashed against the floor, his arms out, one of his shoes flying off. For a moment he sat, his head bowed against his chest. Then he settled slowly, slumping down, like a rag doll that had been tossed away.
“Oh my God,” Barbara said.
Carl slammed the door. He turned toward her, his face distorted, trembling from head to foot. “He had no right to talk that way. To say those things about you. I shouldn’t have done it. But he shouldn’t have said those things about you.”
Barbara covered her eyes, pressing her hands into her face. She shuddered. “We—we better see if he’s hurt.” She picked up Verne’s glasses, kneeling down unsteadily.
“Did they break?”
“No. Open the door.”
Carl opened the hall door. Verne lay stretched out on the floor. He did not stir.
“Is he all right?” Carl said.
Barbara bent down, examining him. “Yes. He’s all right. Passed out. He’ll be all right. We better get him back to his room.”
Twenty
Between them they got Verne to his feet. He mumbled something they did not understand. They half carried, half dragged him down the hall to the stairs, down the stairs onto the porch. The night was cold and dark. Stars shone, scattered above them in the sky.
“I’m sorry,” Carl said, pausing to get back his breath. “I know I shouldn’t have done it. I don’t do things like that. I don’t know what happened to me. But he shouldn’t have said those things.”
“He’ll be all right.”
“In a way he had it coming to him. He was very insulting. Don’t you think so? I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t been on edge.”
“Let’s go.”
With Verne between them they made their way along the path. The air was thin and sharp. Carl took a deep breath, filling his lungs. “It’s nice. The night air. I like it when it’s this way. Clean and cold. I hope he’ll be all right. I hope I didn’t break anything. Do you think he’ll be all right?”
Barbara did not answer. Between them, Verne had begun to stir a little. He grunted, trying to pull back. Carl held on tight to him.
“Don’t let him fall,” Barbara said.
“Maybe we’ll find his pipe. He probably lost it along the way someplace. Don’t you think?”
“I don’t know.”
They reached the men’s dormitory without finding Verne’s pipe. Verne had passed out again. Carl carried him up the stairs to the second floor, Barbara following behind. By the time he had put him down on his bed Carl was gasping and panting.
“Gosh.” Carl stepped back from the bed. “What a job. I’m glad that’s over.”
Verne lay sprawled out on the bed, his mouth open, his body limp and loose. They could hear him breathing.
“What should we do?” Carl asked. “Will he sleep for a while? Should we do anything else?”
“Cover him with a blanket.”
Carl got the top blanket over Verne. He pushed a pillow under Verne’s head. “How will that be? There’s not any chance of him smothering, is there?”
“No.” Barbara wandered around the room. The room smelled of John Jamison. She bent over the waste basket, reaching down into it.
“What is it?”
Barbara pulled out the John Jamison bottle. It was almost empty. There was a little in the bottom. She put the bottle on the dresser. “I can almost understand it, now.”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s good stuff.”
Carl nodded. He was still looking at Verne lying on the bed, under the blanket. “It’s certainly an unfortunate thing, isn’t it? A person with such a keen mind as he has. We shouldn’t treat it as a moral crime, the way they used to, though. It’s more an illness.”
“I guess it is.”
“I understand they can do things for it these days. Psychoanalysis, health farms, or creative therapy of some sort. They’re making great strides.”
Barbara said nothing. The room was silent except for Verne’s heavy breathing. Carl moved around uneasily. After a while he removed Verne’s tie and pulled his collar open. Verne stirred, snorting and grunting. Like an animal. Carl stepped back from the bed.
“It’s too bad,” he murmured. “I wish we could do something. But I guess we can’t.”
“No. He’ll come to. Sometime tomorrow. This has happened before. He’ll recover.”
“It’s certainly a shame.”
Barbara moved to the door. “Coming?”
Carl hesitated. “I—”
“You left your manuscript. It’s still back in the room.”
That’s right. I did forget it. I’ll go back with you and pick it up.”
“Let’s go, then.” Barbara went out into the hall. Carl followed after her.
Barbara’s room was frigid. They had left the door open and the night air had come in. Barbara closed the door after them. “I have an electric heater. I’ll plug it in.”
She got the heater from the closet and attached it to the wall socket. In a few minutes the elements were glowing warmly. Some of the chill left the room.
Carl stood in front of the heater, rubbing his hands together. “That feels good. It’s a cold night.”
Barbara sat down, lighting a cigarette. She sat smoking, leaning back on the bed, watching Carl in front of the little heater. “Yes. It is cold.”
“I feel a lot better already. Isn’t it strange how slight changes in the temperature affect your whole mood? I never feel right when I’m cold. Or damp. When I’m damp, or I have a headache or indigestion or some little pain, I never can think straight. My mind won’t function right at all.”
Barbara nodded.
“It shows how you can’t escape the physical. Just when you start thinking you have a soul something comes along that disagrees with your stomach, and in a few minutes you find yourself faced with the fact that without your stomach you wouldn’t be able to exist. We’re as much a part of the physical as the mental. Sometimes I even think more so. If I had my choice I’d retain my physical over my mental part Isn’t that strange? You’re not supposed to feel that way. You’re supposed to believe your soul is wonderful and your body is wicked. Right?”