Chapter 3

           Jimsatunderthehardwhitelighttypewritingletters.Occasionallyhestoppedandlistened,hisearsturnedtowardthedoor.Exceptforakettlesimmeringhuskilyinthekitchen,thehousewasstill.Thesoftroarofstreetcarsondistantstreets,theslapoffeetonthepavementinfrontonlymadetheinsideseemmorequiet.Helookedupatthealarmclockhangingtoanailonthewall.Hegotupandwentintothekitchenandstirredthestew,andturneddownthegasuntileachjetheldatinyblueglobe.

           Ashewentbacktothetypewriterheheardquickstepsonthegravelledpath.Dickcameburstingintothehouse."Mac’snothereyet?"

           "No,"saidJim."Hehasn’tgothere.NeitherhasJoy.Collectanymoneytoday?"

           "Twentydollars,"saidDick.

           "Boy,yousuredoit,Idon’tknowhow.Wecouldeatforamonthonthat;butMac’llprobablyspenditallonstamps.Lord,howhegoesthroughstamps."

           "Listen,"Dickcried."IthinkIhearMacnow."

           "OrJoy."

           "No,it’snotJoy."

           ThedooropenedandMacentered."Hello,Jim.Hello,Dick.Getanymoneyoutofthesympathizerstoday?"

           "Twentydollars."

           "Goodboy!"