"Not much business?" he asked.
"Not much." There hadn't been a customer in all day—or all yesterday, now that I thought about it.
"That's understandable," he told me. "It's because everyone is storming the big stores, the expensive stores. Everyone wants to wear the best dresses on their last days."
"Sounds logical," I said.
"Logical, but not entirely right," he said, frowning seriously through a little pince-nez. "Why should the big, expensive stores drive the middle-class retailer out of business? I am here as a representative of Bonzelli's—to reimburse you for your financial loss." With that he dropped a thick manilla envelope on the counter, smiled, and left.
"Bonzelli's," my wife commented coolly. "They're—expensive."
Inside the envelope there was eight thousand dollars.
That wasn't the end of it. Strangers dropped in every few minutes, leaving money. After a while, I started handing it back. I went down the block to Ollie Bernstein's store, with twenty thousand dollars in a paper bag. I met him on the way. He had a fistful of bills.
"I've got a little gift for you, ex-competitor," he said. It was about fifteen thousand dollars. Everyone with money was handing it over, and getting it back from someone else.