Abe Goldberg was proud of that store. It was all right. It was a good store. You could get most things from Goldberg’s Stores. Maybe you did have to pay a little more, but it was convenient. All under one root. It saved a walk in the heat, so you expected to pay a little more. Anyway, Abe made a good thing out of it. He didn’t toss his money about, nor did he yell-about it. He just socked it away in the bank, and said nothing. Most people liked Abe. He was a little sharp, but then you expected that too, so you haggled with him. Sometimes, if you haggled long enough, you got what you wanted cheaper. Abe’s joint was the only one in town that you could haggle in. And sometimes people like to haggle.
Abe walked into his shady cool store, sniffed at the various smells, and smiled to himself. His wife, who came a little older than he, shook her black curls at him. She was fat, and she had big half-circles of damp under her arms, but Abe loved her a lot.
“Goldberg,” she said, “what’s the big idea, sending bums into my kitchen?”
Abe lifted his narrow shoulders and spread out his hands. “That guy was hungry,” he said. “What could I do?”
He lifted the trap on the counter and passed through. His small hand patted his wife’s great arm. “You know how it is,” he said softly; “we’ve been hungry Give him a break, Rosey, won’t you?”
She nodded her head. “It’s always the same. Bum after bum comes into this town and they all make tracks for you. I tell you, Goldberg, you’re a sucker.” Her big, fleshy smile delighted him.
“You’re a hard woman, Rosey,” he said, patting her arm again.
Dillon was eating in the kitchen, intent and morose, when Abe went in. He glanced up, keeping his head lowered over his plate, then he looked down again.
Abe stood there, shifting his feet a little in embarrassment. He said at last, “You go ahead an’ eat.”
With his mouth full, Dillon said, “Sure.”