Place in the City by Howard Fast

could make more money, that’s what I thought. Bessie—you know I wouldn’t take the money just like that and lose it? You know that, don’t you?”
    â€œI know—I know, Meyer.”
    â€œSo it’s gone, all of it—eleven thousand dollars. Maybe if I only saved a thousand dollars, maybe only a few hundred, but it’s all gone—”
    â€œYeah—”
    â€œI go to the stock market—like a little lamb I went. Shutzey goes to the races and comes back to show all the money he won. But like a little lamb I go to the stock market. Why, why?”
    â€œYou’ll think about it until you go mad—so stop thinking about it, Meyer. It’s gone. So we still have our health at least, and our children.”
    â€œSo where is Marion—where is our children? Why should it be that we have to sit alone on a night like this, when even a dog wouldn’t be outside?”
    â€œThey’re all right.”
    But he was old and tired. His children with their ways and ideas were as far from him as Shutzey. They had left him alone. They were gone, just as his money was gone.
    â€œMeyer,” his wife said, “why don’t you go to sleep?”
    â€œHow can I sleep?”
    â€œYou should rest.”
    â€œI should rest. All my life I stand in the store. That’s rest enough.”
    â€œCome to sleep with me, Meyer.”
    But there was neither pleasure nor attraction in his wife’s body now. He was too old, too tightly squeezed.

D ANNY came late, but he knew that Timy would understand, when he learned that Danny wasn’t a single man any more. Now he was married, and riding the stars with Timy. Timy would be the godfather of the first kid. Timy would love the kids, spoil them too, not having any of his own. Not that Timy didn’t believe in marriage. Timy did; Timy thought marriage was a great thing to straighten a man out, to keep him down and toeing the mark. In fact, Timy had often asked Danny why he didn’t pick himself up a nice girl someplace, settle down, raise a family. Timy liked the idea.
    Parking his car in front of the club, Danny looked at his watch. It was late, but the stag would go on well into the night. Anyway, by now almost everyone but Timy would be drunk. He could imagine how things would go if he came in and announced that he was married. They were all good fellows; they would fall on him, and insist that he got as drunk as they were. That would go on, all night, and in the morning, if he were sober enough, he might be able to break away.
    He blew his horn, and then he slowly went up the stairs. He could hear them shouting and laughing, and he could hear the band going full blast. Even in the hall, the smell of alcohol hung heavy. He waited for Timy, and in a moment or two, Timy came out, puffing on a cigar and grinning broadly at Danny.
    Timy didn’t drink. As long as Danny had known him, he had never taken a drink. “You don’t climb up on that stuff,” he often told Danny. “It’s too slippery.”
    He came out now with the cigar in his hand, a big grin all over his face. He liked Danny; Danny was a real kid, honest and clean. Timy knew that Danny would sell his soul for him.
    â€œNow ain’t it a fine time to get here,” Timy said, shaking his round pink head. “Now ain’t it a fine time for a friend of mine to get here. Maybe you had to go to a wedding, huh?”
    Without answering, Danny crawled out of his coat, shook the snow from it, and gave it to the check-man. He grinned back at Timy—and felt himself flushing. Well, anyway, say what you wanted to, they didn’t come any better than Timy. Timy was a swell guy, all around.
    â€œMaybe I did,” he nodded.
    Timy offered him a cigar. He took it, bit off the end, and lit up. He blew smoke at the ceiling, clenched the cigar between his teeth, put his hands in his pockets, and looked at Timy. “Congratulate