"Nothin' much. Just looking."
"Say—you know sumthin'?" Mike wiggled himself across part of the Pep Boys' window to gain Chris's attention. "Old Wicker's got a sign in his window—he needs a boy. For after school, I guess. Think he'd pay, huh? Whyncha try?"
Chris looked from a nickel-plated flashlight to a car jack and spark plug.
"Oh—I don't know."
Mike persisted. "Well, I'll tell you what. Know who needs a job bad? That's Jakey Harris. His mother's sick, and he's got that bad foot. Whyncha ask for him, huh? You sit next to him at school."
All Chris heard was "—needs a job bad—mother's sick."
"O.K.," he said. "Only why didn't you ask him yourself?"
Mike became uneasy and fished an elastic band out of his pocket, made a flick of paper and sent it soaring out into M Street.
"Well—" he admitted, "I did. Wicker's such a queer old guy. That ol' antique shop is dark an' spooky, an'—Well, I went in, and there wasn't nobody there, on'y him and me."
Mike stopped, and after a pause Chris said, "So what?"