The Assistant Read Online Free PDF Page B

changed—” Morris began but he didn’t finish, for Karp was at the window, peering nervously into the dark street.
    â€œYou saw that gray car that just passed,” the liquor dealer said. “This is the third time I saw it in the last twenty minutes.” His eyes were restless.
    Morris knew what worried him. “Put in a telephone in your store,” he advised, “so you will feel better.”
    Karp watched the street for another minute and worriedly replied, “Not for a liquor store in this neighborhood. If I had a telephone, every drunken bum would call me to make deliveries, and when you go there they don’t have a cent.”
    He opened the door but shut it in afterthought. “Listen, Morris,” he said, lowering his voice, “if they come back again, I will lock my front door and put out my lights. Then I will call you from the back window so you can telephone the police.”
    â€œThis will cost you five cents,” Morris said grimly.
    â€œMy credit is class A.”
    Karp left the grocery, disturbed.
    God bless Julius Karp, the grocer thought. Without him I would have my life too easy. God made Karp so a poor grocery man will not forget his life is hard. For Karp, he thought, it was miraculously not so hard, but what was there to envy? He would allow the liquor dealer his bottles and gelt just not to be him. Life was bad enough.
    At nine-thirty a stranger came in for a box of matches. Fifteen minutes later Morris put out the lights in his window. The street was deserted except for an automobile parked in front of the laundry across the car tracks. Morris
peered at it sharply but could see nobody in it. He considered locking up and going to bed, then decided to stay open the last few minutes. Sometimes a person came in at a minute to ten. A dime was a dime.
    A noise at the side door which led into the hall frightened him.
    â€œIda?”
    The door opened slowly. Tessie Fuso came in in her housecoat, a homely Italian girl with a big face.
    â€œAre you closed, Mr. Bober?” she asked embarrassedly.
    â€œCome in,” said Morris.
    â€œI’m sorry I came through the back way but I was undressed and didn’t want to go out in the street.”
    â€œDon’t worry.”
    â€œPlease give me twenty cents’ ham for Nick’s lunch tomorrow.”
    He understood. She was making amends for Nick’s trip around the corner that morning. He cut her an extra slice of ham.
    Tessie bought also a quart of milk, package of paper napkins and loaf of bread. When she had gone he lifted the register lid. Ten dollars. He thought he had long ago touched bottom but now knew there was none.
    I slaved my whole life for nothing, he thought.
    Then he heard Karp calling him from the rear. The grocer went inside, worn out.
    Raising the window he called harshly, “What’s the matter there?”
    â€œTelephone the police,” cried Karp. “The car is parked across the street.”
    â€œWhat car?”
    â€œThe holdupniks.”
    â€œThere is nobody in this car, I saw myself.”
    â€œFor God’s sake, I tell you call the police. I will pay for the telephone.”
    Morris shut the window. He looked up the phone number
and was about to dial the police when the store door opened and he hurried inside.
    Two men were standing at the other side of the counter, with handkerchiefs over their faces. One wore a dirty yellow clotted one, the other’s was white. The one with the white one began pulling out the store lights. It took the grocer a half-minute to comprehend that he, not Karp, was their victim.
    Â 
    Morris sat at the table, the dark light of the dusty bulb falling on his head, gazing dully at the few crumpled bills before him, including Helen’s check, and the small pile of silver. The gunman with the dirty handkerchief, fleshy, wearing a fuzzy black hat, waved a pistol at the grocer’s head. His pimply brow was thick