It was the only house on the street that showed a light.

“Almost,” Furia said, sucking his teeth, “like they got the welcome mat out.”

Ellen began praising the film the moment the house lights went up.

“Not that I approve of all that violence,” Ellen said as her husband held her cloth coat for her. “But you have to admit, Loney, it’s a marvelous picture. Didn’t you think so?”

“You asking me?” Malone said.

“Certainly I’m asking you.”

“It’s a fraud,” Malone said.

“I suppose now you’re a movie critic.”

“You asked me, didn’t you?”

“Hello, Wes,” a man said. They were being nudged up the aisle by the crowd. “Good picture, I thought.”

“Yeah, Lew,” Malone said. “Very good.”

“Why is it a fraud?” Ellen asked in a whisper.

“Because it is. It makes them out a couple of heroes. Like they were Dillinger or somebody. In fact, they used some stuff that actually happened to Dillinger. You felt sorry for them, didn’t you?”

“I suppose. What’s wrong with that?”

“Everything. Nobody felt sorry for those punks at the time it happened. Even the hoods were down on them. The truth is they were a couple of smalltime murderers who never gave their victims a chance. Clyde got his kicks out of killing. His favorite target was somebody’s back. Hi, Arthur.”

“Great picture, Wes!” Arthur said.

“Just great,” Malone said.

“It got the nomination for Best Picture,” Ellen sniffed. “You’re such an expert.”

“No expert. I just happened to read an article about them, that’s all. Why kid the public?”

“Well, I don’t care, I liked it,” Ellen said. But she squeezed his arm.

The Malones came out of the New Bradford Theater and made for their car. Ellen walked slowly; she knew how tired he was.