"I've got an idea," I said. "How about the unfortunate?"
"You mean the Bronx dress shops?" he asked.
"No, I mean the derelicts, the bums. Why shouldn't they share?"
"Count me in for fifteen thousand," he said without hesitation. We talked it over. Plans for going down to the Bowery and handing it out didn't seem so good. The streets were still impossible, and I didn't want to leave Jane for long. We finally decided to give it to the nearest church. They'd see it got into the proper hands.
The church on 65th and Madison was closest, so we went right there and formed on the end of the line. It stretched halfway down the block, but it was moving fast.
"I had no idea it was like this," Ollie said. He shook his head. Perspiration was dripping from him. He was working harder handing out money than he had ever worked to make it in his life.
"What kind of church is this?" he asked me.
"I don't know." I tapped the man in front of me. "What kind of church is this, mac?"
The man turned around. He was almost as big as Ollie but older, tireder looking. "How should I know?" he said. "I'm from Brooklyn."
We reached the inside of the church and a man took our money. He didn't have time to thank us; there were too many behind, clamoring for their chance. The man just threw the bills on a table. Another man, a Reverend of some kind, was walking back and forth, picking up handfuls of it and carrying it off, then coming back for more. We followed him, just out of curiosity. I didn't have any doubt they'd dispose of it in the right way, but a fellow likes to know where his charity is going. Besides, Jane would probably ask me.