One day, at another of his stops, Voitek’s Dependable Pharmacy, he did a favor for Mr. Voitek: the floor was covered with melting slush that had fallen in cakes from the customers’ galoshes; Clinton took the broom from the old druggist and swept the mess out the front door for him. For a while the performance of this task gave the boy an almost proprietary feeling about the place, and at the soda fountain he often used the end stool, the same one that Mr. Voitek himself sat on when he rested. But one day Clinton went too far. Mr. Voitek had been out in back filling a prescription, when a second customer walked in and stood at the cigarette counter. Clinton had a sudden impulse to wait on him: in this way he might demonstrate to Voitek his value as a possible employee. The man wanted a cigar. Clinton, with all the appearance of boldness, though his heart beat heavy under his shirt, went behind the counter and brought out the box of cigars. The customer made his selection and left the correct number of coins on the counter. When the druggist came back up front, Clinton handed him the money and described the transaction to him. Mr. Voitek frowned and he did not look Clinton in the eyes when he said: “I thank you, but I don’t like a customer behind my counter. And you not a customer, you don’t buy nothing. And you not work here eeder. I thank you.” He rang the cash register and deposited the coins. He did not sit down at the fountain as usual, but made himself appear very busy at the cigarette counter. Clinton moved slowly toward the door, whistling in his effort to appear casual. He did not want Mr. Voitek to think he was leaving because of what had taken place between them. But once outside, he quickened his pace and hurried through the cold gray slush like a fugitive. When he stopped for a traffic light, his head whirled dizzily, his body was hot and moist, and he felt so weak he wanted to sit down right there on the curbstone.

But aside from the Aloha and Voitek’s Dependable Pharmacy, Clinton had several other stops: two chain drugstores, a chili-con-carne place, a magazine store, and the White Tower. Mevvin from Heaven was always glad to see him, but Clinton knew he was in danger of wearing out his welcome and so he timed these visits accordingly.

He rarely returned to the Old Neighborhood any more. Perhaps once in two or three weeks he would go there to wait for Mildred Murphy on the corner where he knew she caught her bus when school let out. Mildred Murphy was usually good for an hour’s conversation, but there were never any letters from Berry-berry.

On the first day of December, Annabel received an answer to her letter to Bernice O’Brien. Clinton managed to get hold of it within a few hours after its arrival: when Annabel took her afternoon bath, he saw his opportunity and seized it. He could see, in the penmanship itself, sprawling and childlike, all the pain in the hand that had written it.