She waited.
“I always been willing to help you out,” grumbled Joe. Something about the dirty, broken-spirited old woman seemed to make him so sore he couldn’t see straight. “Soon as I got money I went to Sussex street first-off, but you had moved away. One of the neighbors give me a number in Forsyth street, and I went there, but you had moved again, leaving no address. What more could I do?”
“We had to move often,” she murmured.
“Listen; I’m willing to keep you in comfort, on condition that you change your name, and keep away from me, see? Call yourself Cohen or Levy, or any common Jewish name. Go hire some nice clean rooms, and put in some new furniture. Get everything new, and just walk out of the mess you’re in and get a fresh start, see? Don’t tell anybody who knows you as Kaplan where you’re going. And if you want any comfort in your new life, you’d better not tell the boys.”
“Oh!” she stammered. “I couldn’t shake the boys, Joe! That wouldn’t be right, like.”
“Well, that’s up to you. As long as you have a dollar, they’ll bleed yeh!”
“I know . . . but when the old man goes, I’d be alone. . . .”
“All right. If the boys ever tried to make trouble for me, I’d know how to handle them. They can’t get money out of me by threatening to expose my past, because I brag about it, see? . . . As soon as you’re settled in your new rooms—Aw, take a regular nice flat with a kitchen and a bathroom and all; write to me under your new name, see? and send the address. I’ll fix it so’s a bank will send you forty dollars a week as long as either of you live. . . . I’ll give you the money now for the furniture and the first month’s rent.”
Over his desk he passed her a handful of crackling bills. The old woman drew back from them with a look of horror that made Joe laugh. “Here, take them,” he said. “They won’t burn yeh!”
“It’s . . . it’s too much!” she stammered. His harshness she had taken as a matter of course; his beneficence terrified her.