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the most remarkable young man it’s ever been my pleasure to meet. I can’t thank you enough for bringing him to me.”
    Don goggled. “You’re welcome.”
    The president got up and put his hand on the Peach’s shoulder. “He’s a genius! He’s going to save this company millions! In all my years in business, I’ve never met such a gifted individual. Do you know that he can take a look at an operation, and immediately see ways to improve it?”
    No kidding. Don and I exchanged glances. The Peach’s expression didn’t alter.
    â€œWhich is what I’ve brought you in here to discuss. Part of Fergie’s complete plant overhaul involves an automatic feeding system, so Plastics Unlimited doesn’t need feeders anymore.”
    It took a second or two for this to sink in.
    â€œWe’re fired?” I barely whispered.
    Don was stunned into silence.
    â€œOf course not,” said Uncle Harry. “Can’t run the place without my boy Fergie. But you two — well, that’s business, right? Tomorrow’s your last day.”
    â€œBut — but you’re my uncle!” gasped Don.
    â€œAll the more reason why you don’t want any special treatment,” beamed our ex-employer. “A man’s got to make his own way in this world. Just look at Ferguson here. What a mind! What a
mind
!”
    Don was begging now. “Couldn’t we be transferred to another section?”
    â€œSorry, we’re fully staffed. And you have the least seniority, so you have to go.”
    â€œBut I’m
family
!” Don whined.
    â€œNepotism has no place in business,” his uncle replied. “This is a tough world, Donny. Think of how fortunate you are to learn all about it at your age.”
    The end.
    * * *
    Ferguson was invited to stay and have dinner with the executives, and Don and I went home. By unspoken agreement, we jammed all the Peach’s clothes into his suitcase, zipped it up, and threw it out the window. Then we turned out all the lights and cranked the stereo up to 9.
    At eight-thirty, Ferguson showed up, good‑natured as ever, suitcase in hand. We had no words; we just stared grim death at him.
    He said, “Sorry,” and began to unpack.
    I blew up. “Sorry?
Sorry?
We’re obsolete, thanks to you! Now what are we supposed to do — go down to the museum and stand in a glass case marked
Feeders. Late Twentieth Century?”
    The Peach just shrugged.
    Don went for his throat, and I had to leap between them. “The important thing,” I said, straining to hold them apart, “is that we can’t let our parents find out we’ve been fired. Remember, the jobs were the number-one condition for this trip.”
    â€œRight!” exclaimed Don. He shook his fist at Ferguson. “If you slip up in one of your hourly letters to Mommy, and mention us getting canned, our folks’ll freak out and drag us back home.”
    â€œI’ll take it under advisement,” murmured the Peach.
    But I knew Ferguson wouldn’t tell. And Don’s uncle was no risk — he couldn’t even remember which of his sisters was Don’s mother. Absolutely nobody could know we’d lost our jobs.
    * * *
    When we went down to the deli for breakfast the next morning, we found
The Toronto Star
Employment section spread out on the table of our booth.
    I looked over at Plotnick, who was behind the counter, involved in a hubcap sale. “What’s this for?” I called.
    The landlord looked up. “Just in case you should happen to know two persons looking for employment as of today.”
    â€œYeah, well, we don’t know anyone,” I snapped. Was Plotnick psychic or something?
    Plotnick handed the hubcap customer his change. “Okay, Mr. Cardone, but just remember, the first of the month is coming this weekend. And jobs for feeders are hard to come by with all the