for you. But stuff don’t keep this weather. Turns wilty and my trade won’t touch it. . . First trip in?”
She wiped her face that was damp and yet cold to the touch. “First—trip in.” Suddenly she was finding it absurdly hard to breathe.
He called from the sidewalk to the men within: “George! Ben! Hustle this stuff in. Half of it. The best. Send you check to-morrow, Mis’ DeJong. Picked a bad day, didn’t you, for your first day?”
“Hot, you mean?”
“Wa-al, hot, yes. But I mean a holiday like this pedlers mostly ain’t buying.”
“Holiday?”
“You knew it was a Jew holiday, didn’t you? Didn’t!—Wa-al, my sakes! Worst day in the year. Jew pedlers all at church to-day and all the others not pedlers bought in Saturday for two days. Chicken men down the street got empty coops and will have till to-morrow. Yessir. Biggest chicken eaters, Jews are, in the world. . . Hm . . . Better just drive along home and just dump the rest that stuff, my good woman.”
One hand on the seat she prepared to climb up again—did step to the hub. You saw her shabby, absurd side-boots that were so much too big for the slim little feet. “If you’re just buying my stuff because you're sorry for me” The Peake pride.
“Don’t do business that way. Can’t afford to, ma’am. My da’ter she’s studying to be a singer. In
