They turned on him. "They haven't bought a thing from us! And what if they did?"
"Kidding, boys. I've got something to sell, too." Then Jerry frowned. "They haven't bought anything?"
Around the table, heads shook.
"Probably," Caruso growled, "they wear their hair long, too."
In the laughter, the matter was forgotten.
But Jerry remembered it that night, sitting on the porch of his house. There must be hundreds of items—tools and nails and hinges and glass and wire and sandpaper and oil and rope and seed and salt and sugar—that the tribe needed. How could they—?
There was a step on the path. "You there?" Caruso called.
"Yep."
The barber sat in the other chair, hoisted his feet to the railing. "You know how kids are."
"Um."