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Show Jeffries, Section 3, Page 24 In the room-temperature darkness before tropical dawn, the filling station was doing a land-office business, though the sign out front where the paint had run said Oorry Out of Gas J) 71" . ^ <^ Still the early tourists were rubbernecking, always so dangerous an activity on Route One, trying to figure out the pattern of commercial vans and cars, some of which they were sure were gassing up while others seemed to have taken up defensive positions, blocking the joint to outsiders, who nodded vacantly, heading out for the seven-mile-bridge on empty. The once and future oil crisis, Dory thought. At first he had been turned away at this station, but then the school counselor had produced Ham, a big black kid who had been having trouble with his other English teacher. "Here's where a damn Yankee like you can be of some use," the counselor had proposed, "in simple terms the boy just isn't getting along; I want you to rap with him. . ." "That would be the procedure," Mr. Clayton agreed, |
