“I have to go.”
“I’ll just step out the door a minute.”
“And you’re all right?” I asked outside.
“Yes, darling. Are you coming to-night?”
“No. I’m leaving now for a show up above Plava.”
“A show?”
“I don’t think it’s anything.”
“And you’ll be back?”
“To-morrow.”
She was unclasping something from her neck. She put it in my hand. “It’s a Saint Anthony,” she said. “And come to-morrow night.”
“You’re not a Catholic, are you?”
“No. But they say a Saint Anthony’s very useful.”
“I’ll take care of him for you. Good-by.”
“No,” she said, “not good-by.”
“All right.”
“Be a good boy and be careful. No, you can’t kiss me here. You can’t.”
“All right.”
I looked back and saw her standing on the steps. She waved and I kissed my hand and held it out. She waved again and then I was out of the driveway and climbing up into the seat of the ambulance and we started. The Saint Anthony was in a little white metal capsule. I opened the capsule and spilled him out into my hand.
“Saint Anthony?” asked the driver.
“Yes.”
“I have one.” His right hand left the wheel and opened a button on his tunic and pulled it out from under his shirt.
“See?”
