And in Queens it was the same as everywhere else in the city, except that there were more mosquitoes. There are very few trees in Queens and the land is board flat, and as in all flat places the heat seems more relentless, especially in the sections built upon filled-in swamps. There, in the empty lots, the earth is cinders which need hardly more than the movement of the sun to stir them into a fine ground haze of dust.

It was through one of these empty lots that Mr Newman made his way at a quarter to eight that summer night, after the city had been so long without rain. His shoes split black cinders as he crunched along and little puffs of dry smoke billowed under his trouser legs every time he put a foot down. He was cutting across this lot to save steps, but he regretted having done it now. He was a very clean man and he could feel soot on his sticky calves. The clean shirt he had just put on at home was already gummy against his spine. Despite the heat he still wore his jacket and a tie; the meeting, after all, would have a certain degree of formality, he thought, and he might be making acquaintances tonight who would be important to him. He believed in the strength of first impressions.

When he reached the sidewalk again the hard concrete relieved him, and he recalled the good news he had gotten during the day. The firm was going to keep him on after the war was over. He thought of how it would be, earning sixty-two a week during the coming depression, and pleasantly recalled how much sixty-two could buy when things were down to normal once more. In all, he felt the approach of a rather pleasant time of his life.

Turning a corner he saw the crowd moving into the hall at the end of the block. He slowed down. He would wait and then enter and find a single seat. As he approached the hall, he saw that a police car was parked at the curb opposite it. Near the car six or eight policemen were standing idly by. There were a surprising number of young boys charging around the edges of the moving mob. Some sailors were standing away from the crowd, watching in silence. Then they turned and walked away, talking among themselves. Mr Newman arrived at the entrance and stood to one side watching the people enter, trying to spot Fred.

The sun was down now but there was still some orange light around the rim of the sky, and he could see the faces quite clearly as they moved through the heavily columned facade. Most of them seemed middle-aged. To Mr Newman it began to look like one out of three, at least, was old. But quite a few soldiers. Quite a few. One hobbling in on crutches with an old man and a sailor breaking a path for him. A hand touched New- man’s arm and he turned to look into the face of a humpbacked man in a Panama hat, selling papers. The man held one up to his eyes. It was the Gaelic-American. He shook his head. Never read the paper. The man in the Panama went away, moving in little circles as he covered the mob.