“You and Eddie go ahead and tear your hair and squall,” Skip said. “Me, I’ve got to drive the jalopp. It’s never learned to drive itself. And I can’t see to drive if I’m crying.”

He had turned into the busy boulevard. A big transit bus rolled by, a scattering of people in it, tired faces turned to the windows. In a rear seat a small wrinkled hatless man looked especially discouraged and weary. His eyes were almost covered with drooping, parchment-like lids. As the car gathered speed, Skip found himself staring up at the bus window, keeping pace; and the wheel wobbled between his hands.

“Hey!” Eddie said. “Watch it, we don’t want a ticket now.”

The bus sped on, and they kept abreast of the rear window. Skip could see the tired, wrinkled face just above; the washed-out old eyes seemed dead beneath the parchment lids. “Look at that,” Skip said between his teeth. “Look at this old geezer by the window. You know what?”

“What?” said Eddie uneasily. He couldn’t see the old man from where he sat, but he heard the anger in Skip’s tone.

“We had a chance,” Skip said. “The old woman ruined it for us, the only decent chance we’ll ever have.”

“It’s over,” Eddie said, his tone hardening. “We were lucky to get out.”

“All we needed was the dough,” Skip went on. “She didn’t have to act like a son of a bitch over it. She could have cooperated a little.”

He glanced up again at the bus window. The old man sat with his forehead sagging toward the window, his tired eyes fixed on nothing. He had glanced once at Skip, almost sharply, but now seemed withdrawn again into his private limbo. He had only the night, the passing cars, the gloomy and uninteresting way home. He was the kind of old man who existed in an endless rut. Lives in some rattrap rooming house, Skip thought. His feet hurt. He must have a job where he stood up all day. Maybe he was a dishwasher. Skip pictured the old man over a steamy sink, scraping garbage, stewing his hands for hour after hour in hot soapy water. Once in a while ducking out to a littered alley for a cigarette. What a life, what a dirty rotten break. Such rage rose in Skip that he had difficulty in keeping it under control.

The through boulevard swung to the east in a slight curve. In the distance, across vacant rising ground, the Havermann house among its trees glittered with light. Eddie said, “Oh, for God’s sake, look at it. Like a Christmas tree! Why didn’t we turn off the lights?”

“Yeah, why didn’t you?” Skip said.

“What do the lights matter?” Karen cried as if bewildered.

They were passing the hamburger diner when Skip braked the car sharply and turned in at the parking lot.