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We shook hands； and I turned to go。 Doc stopped me at the door by putting his hand on my arm。 〃Just a minute； Frank。 As soon as I can afford it； I'm moving to a better office。 And； of course； when I get enough capital； I'm going to build my own laboratories。 But meanwhile； here's the address of the drugstore where I work。〃 He handed me a card and I slipped it into my wallet。 〃I'm on duty there every Friday； Saturday and Sunday night from six to midnight。 And almost every Wednesday from noon till midnight。 I relieve the owner； you see。 So when you need anything； drop me a line there； or e by and see me yourself。〃
I opened the door； and returned my wallet to my hip pocket。
〃You going to put an entry in the Orlando tourney； Frank？〃
I shook my head and pointed north。
〃Southern Conference then？〃
I nodded。
〃Well； I'll probably see you in Milledgeville； then。 I haven't missed an S。C。T in ten years and I don't intend to now。 And when you see any of the boys on the road； say hello for me； and tell them I still send out a few things when they write。〃
I winked； clapped him on the shoulder； and we shook hands again。 I started down the hallway toward the stairwell and Doc watched me all the way。 When I reached the stairs； he called good…bye to me again。 I waved an arm and descended the stairs。 At the drugstore on the corner I had a cup of coffee at the counter and then returned to my room at the Jeff Davis Hotel。 Fortunately； I had kept my morning newspaper。
I turned to the classified ads and looked under the Help Wanted； Male section to see what I could do about getting a job。
6
It is a funny thing。 A man can make a promise to his God； break it five minutes later and never think anything about it。 With an idle shrug of his shoulders； a man can also break solemn promises to his mother； wife or sweetheart； and； except for a slight； momentary twinge of conscience； he still won't be bothered very much。 But if a man ever breaks a promise he has made to himself he disintegrates。 His entire personality and character crumble into tiny pieces； and he is never the same man again。
I remember very well a sergeant I knew in the army。 Before a group of five men he swore off smoking forever。 An hour later he sheepishly lit a cigarette and broke his vow to the five of us and to himself。 He was never quite the same man again； not to me； and not to himself。
My vow of silence was much harder to maintain than a vow to quit smoking。 It was a definite handicap in everything I did。 I read through the want ads three times； studying them carefully； and there wasn't a single thing I could find to do。 A man who can't； or won't； talk is in a difficult situation when it es to finding a job in the city。 Besides； I had never had a job in my life…except for my two years in the service。
Of course； during my year of college at Valdosta State I had waited tables in the co…op for my meals； but I didn't consider that as a job。 Growing up in Georgia； I had done farm work for my father when I couldn't get out of it； such things as chopping cotton； milking a cow； and simple carpentry repair jobs around the farm。 There were a good many things I was capable of doing around a farm without having to talk。 But the want ads in the newspaper were no help to me at all。 Unwffling to use my voice； I couldn't even ask for a job unless I wrote it down。 The majority of the situations that were open in the agate columns were for salesmen。 And a man who can't talk can't sell anything。 I wadded the newspaper into a ball； and tossed it into the wastebasket。
One thing I could always do was walk and condition cocks for another breeder。 There were plenty of chicken men in the South who would have jumped at the chance to pay me five dollars apiece for every game fowl I conditioned for them。 But for a man who was still considered a big…time cockfighter throughout the South； it would be too much of a edown to work for another cock breeder。 I had never worked for anybody else in my thirty…two years on this earth； and it was too late to start now。 By God； I wasn't that desperate！
Sitting in that hotel room； with only a few loose dollars in my pccket； I was beginning to feel sorry for myself。 My eyes rested on my guitar case。
My guitar was an old friend。 During the first few months of my self…enforced silence； the days and nights had almost doubled in length。 It is surprising how much time is killed everyday in idle conversation。 Just to have something to fill in time I had purchased a secondhand Gibson guitar for thirty dollars in a Miami pawnshop。 The case wasn't so hot…cheap brown cardboard stamped to resemble alligator leather…but the guitar was a good one； and it had a strong； wonderful tone。 The guitar served as a substitute for my lost voice； and I don't know what I would have done without it。
I opened the guitar case； removed the instrument and ran through a few exercises to limber my fingers。 I hadn't played the guitar for five or six days； but the calluses on my fingers were still hard and tough。 The Uncle who sold me the Gibson had also thrown in a free instruction booklet； but I had never learned how to play any regular songs。 After learning most of the chords and how to tune and pick the strings； I had tossed the booklet away。
I only knew three songs； and they were tunes I had made up myself； sitting around； picking them out until they sounded like the mental images I wanted them to resemble。 One was 〃Georgia Girl。〃 This was a portrait in sound of Mary Elizabeth； my fiancée。 The second tune I had posed I called 〃Empty Pockets〃 My pockets had been empty many times in my life； and in making up this song I had discovered a way of getting a hollow sound effect by banging the box near the hole and playing a succession of fast triplets on the lower three strings at the same time。 Despite the hollow sounds； this was a gay； fast tune and I was rather fond of it。 The remaining song was merely my impression of an old patchwork quilt Grandma had made many years ago； and that's what I called it…〃Grandma's Quilt。〃 I had tried to duplicate the colors and designs of that old patchwork； faded quilt in chord patterns； and I had been fairly successful。
My repertoire； then； consisted of three highly personal songs。 If it was music； it was reflective music made up for my own personal enjoyment； and not for the general public。 But I had to get a few dollars together； and soon； and maybe my guitar was the way？ I could have pawned the Gibson for twenty dollars or so； and this sum would pay a week's rent； but if I pawned the guitar； where would I be then？
I decided to take a chance and temporarily invade the world of music。 As a last resort； when push came to shove； I could pawn the instrument。 I removed my wristwatch； waited until the sweep hand hit twelve； picked up my guitar and played my three songs in succession all the way through。 Time elapsed： seventeen minutes； fourteen seconds。 Not a lot of time for a guitar concert； but I had nothing to lose by trying； and the songs were all different。 Perhaps some bar owner would put me on for a few dollars in the evening。
I shucked out of my blac