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I move out with nothing. You understand me?" "Yes," said Morris. Frank fell into silence. After a while he said, "I don't understand myself. I don't really know what I'm saying to you or why I am saying it." "Rest yourself," said Morris. "What kind of a life is that for a man my age?" He waited for the grocer to reply-to tell him how to live his life, but Morris was thinking, I am sixty and he talks like me. "Take some more coffee," he said. "No, thanks." Frank lit another cigarette and smoked it to the tip. He seemed eased yet not eased, as though he had accomplished something (What? wondered the grocer) yet had not. His face was relaxed, almost sleepy, but he cracked the knuckles of both hands and silently sighed. Why don't he go home? the grocer thought. I am a working man. "I'm going." Frank got up but stayed. "What happened to your head?" he asked again. Morris felt the bandage. "This Friday before last 1 had here a holdup." "You mean they slugged you?" The grocer nodded. "Bastards like that ought to die." Frank spoke vehemently. Morris stared at him. Frank brushed his sleeve. "You people are Jews, aren't you?" "Yes," said the grocer, still watching him. "I always liked Jews." His eyes were downcast. Morris did not speak. "I suppose you have some kids?" Frank asked. "Me?" "Excuse me for being curious." "A girl." Morris sighed. "I had once a wonderful boy but he died from an ear sickness that they had in those days." "Too bad." Frank blew his nose. A gentleman, Morris thought with a watery eye. "Is the girl the one that was here behind the counter a couple of nights last week?" "Yes," the grocer replied, a little uneasily. "Well, thanks for all the coffee." "Let me make you a sandwich. Maybe you'll be hungry later." "No thanks." The Jew insisted, but Frank felt he had all he wanted from him at the moment. Left alone, Morris began to worry about his health. He felt dizzy at times, often headachy. Murderers, he thought. Standing before the cracked and faded mirror at the sink he unwound the bandage from his head. He wanted to leave it off but the scar was still ugly, not nice for the customers, so he tied a fresh bandage around his skull. As he did this he thought of that night with bitterness, recalling the buyer who hadn't come, nor had since then, nor ever would. Since his recovery, Morris had not spoken to Karp. Against words the liquor dealer had other words, but silence silenced him. Afterward the grocer looked up from his paper and was startled to see somebody out front washing his window with a brush on a stick. He ran out with a roar to drive the intruder away, for there were nervy window cleaners who did the job without asking permission, then held out their palms to collect. But when Morris came out of the store he saw the window washer was Frank Alpine. "Just to show my thanks and appreciation." Frank explained he had borrowed the pail from Sam Pearl and the brush and squeegee from the butcher next door. Ida then entered the store by the inside door, and seeing the window being washed, hurried outside. "You got rich all of a sudden?" she asked Morris, her face inflamed. "He does me a favor," the grocer replied. "That's right," said Frank, bearing down on the squeegee. "Come inside, it's cold." In the store Ida asked, "Who is this goy?" "A poor boy, an Italyener he looks for a job. He gives me a help in the morning with the cases milk." "If you sold containers like I told you a thousand times, you wouldn't need help." "Containers leak. I like bottles." "Talk to the wind," Ida said. Frank came in blowing his breath on water-reddened fists. "How's it look now, folks, though you can't really tell till I do the inside." Ida remarked under her breath, "Pay now for your favor." "Fine," Morris said to Frank. He went to the register and rang up "no sale." "No, thanks," Frank said, holding up his hand. "For services already rendered." Ida reddened. "Another cup coffee?" Morris asked. "Thanks. Not as of now." "Let me make