“Lawson!” the old man called.

“What?” a gruff voice answered.

“Someone to see you. A boy . . .”

“What does he want?”

The elderly man caught his arm and pushed him forward into the room.

He stared, his heart barely beating. Before him were the three policemen: Lawson, Johnson, and Murphy. They were seated about a table, playing cards. The air was blue with smoke and sunshine poured through a high window, lighting up fantastic smoke-shapes. Murphy was first to look up; his face was heavy and tired and a cigarette drooped from his mouth. His lips parted in amazement.

“Lawson!” Murphy exclaimed, holding both of his hands tightly about a few cards.

“Looking for me?” Lawson mumbled, sorting his cards. “For what?”

“Don’t you-all remember me?” he blurted breathlessly.

He ran to the center of the room and halted about two feet from the table. All three of the policemen were looking steadily at him now. Lawson leaped to his feet.

“Where in hell’ve you been?” Lawson demanded tensely.

“Lawson, do you know who he is?” asked the elderly man who had brought him.

“Hunh? Oh, yes,” Lawson stammered. “I’ll handle this.” The elderly man left and Lawson rushed across the room and closed the door and turned the key in the lock. “Come here, boy,” Lawson said in clipped, cold tones as he came back to the table.

He did not move. He looked at all three of them. Yes, he had to tell them.

“Can’t you hear?” Lawson barked at him.

Still he did not reply. Johnson and Murphy rose and now all three of them were staring at him. He smiled at them.

“Where did you go, boy?” Lawson asked in a quieter tone.

“I went . . . I . . . I went underground . . .”

“What?” Lawson screwed up his eyes and twisted his mouth.

“I went underground,” he repeated simply.

“He looks batty to me,” Murphy said.

“You’ve been hiding, hunh?” Lawson asked in a tone that denoted that he had ignored his previous answer.

“No, sir.”

The room was silent for a long moment.

“Why in hell did you come back?” Lawson asked.

“I . . . I just didn’t want to run away no more,” he said. “I’m all right now, mister.” He paused; the men’s attitude puzzled him. In panic he wondered if they were indifferent! That was it! They did not care what he said; they thought that they knew what he was about to say! They were not afraid or curious! He tightened inside. Yes, they were waiting for him to speak and then they would laugh at him! He had to rescue himself from this bog; he had to force the reality of himself upon them. “I’ll sign some more papers,” he told them, leaning forward and speaking with all the fervor he could muster. “I’m guilty . . .”

“I’ll be damned,” Lawson muttered. “You’re off your nut.” With slightly shaking fingers he lit a cigarette. “Sit down, boy.”