"Exactly. But I wish you would not call him an old goat. He's younger than I, a shade taller, and almost as handsome."
"Gee, we sure hate ourself."
Grinning, Justin stepped to the window, his usual method of closing a conversation. Three panes were cracked and he had patched them with tape. Just outside, the once-private terrace had been converted to a fire escape long ago when the apartments were sub-divided. Somebody had told him that Washington Square Village in the old days was a very nice place to live, with elevators even and private bathrooms. It would be pleasant to have your own bath. Still, they were darn lucky to have this single room to themselves, and that only because of his standing with the Government.
From his high vantage he could see into Washington Square where, under the autumnal nudity of the ancient trees, the students had their digs—old army tents mostly and packing-crate shanties. A snow threat hung in the bleak sky; a light breeze rippled the tent walls and churned the smoke from the community kitchen's licensed fire. Oblivious of the forming weather, a group of ragged students mustered near the ruined Arch. Some carried signs:
"Down with Austin! Vote for Wheeler!
"Venus or Bust!
"Damn the Budget, Try Again!"
