Sunday the Rabbi Stayed Home by Harry Kemelman Page B

the room next door his sister Sharon, he knew, was lying on her bed reading. She was always reading.
    “Hey. Sharon.” he called through the wall, “got any scratch?”
    “No.” He had not expected anything else, but it was worth a try. He leaned close to the wall and spoke with great urgency. “You see. I’ve got this job lined up. The guy’s in town, in Boston –” He heard the squeak of her bed and then a door slam closed. She had gone out.
    “Bitch,” he muttered.
    He raised the edge of the mattress to remove the gray flannel slacks he had placed between the box spring and mattress the night before. As he drew them on he considered the possibilities offered by his brother Peter’s room. The kid had a paper route and always had money. He wouldn’t lend a nickel, though. He thought more of money than of his skin. But he wasn’t home now. On the other hand, the kid was good at hiding it, and if Sharon heard him moving around in his room, she’d rat on him. His shoulders gave an involuntary twitch as he remembered the last time he had been caught borrowing from Peter’s hoard; his father had showed his disapproval – with a half-inch dowel rod.
    Still debating with himself the chances of a quick foray into Peter’s room, he selected a yellow shirt from his meager supply. He heard the downstairs door open and close, signaling the return of his mother from her shopping. Hell, she’ll give it to me, he thought and quickly finished dressing. The black tie, already knotted, needed only a quick jerk to tighten. He squirmed into his sport jacket, and with the aid of a forefinger, worried his feet into his loafers. Then he hurried down the stairs.
    She was in the kitchen putting away the groceries. “You going to see a girl?” she asked sourly, seeing the way he was dressed.
    He grinned at her, a wide infectious grin. “Girls is for nighttime. Ma, you know that. I’m going into town.”
    “Town?”
    “Yuh, Boston. I gotta chance for a job. It’s a special deal. I might be late gettin home.”
    “Your father doesn’t like it if you’re not at the table at dinnertime.”
    “Well, gee, sure, I know, Ma, but I’ll be hitchhiking back.”
    “You mean you haven’t even got bus fare back?”
    “I only have a dime. That’s the truth. I had to get some stuff at the store for a job that I was doing for old man Begg, and he forgot to pay me back, and I forgot to ask him.”
    “Didn’t he pay you for the job either?”
    “Oh no, he never pays me until Friday, the end of the week.”
    “And that Mr. Paff at the bowling alley?”
    “He’ll pay me tonight.”
    “And how does it look that a boy like you should be thumbing rides,” she demanded. “Why don’t you get yourself a regular j ob?”
    “Carpenter like Pa? No thanks. I’ve been able to manage since I got back, haven’t I? Once in a while a fellow gets strapped. Well, that can happen to anyone. Now if this deal that I’m working on comes through. I’ll be all set.”
    “What kind of a deal?” she asked.
    “Oh, it’s kind of promotion work. This fellow I knew – I met him in school when I was in Alabama – he’s coming up North and he’s building up an organization.”
    “And you’re going to see him without a penny in your pocket?”
    “Well, I’m not going to tell him that I’m broke,” he said tartly.
    “He’ll see it in your face. He’ll read it in your eves,” she said. “Like I do.” She fumbled in her apron pocket and took out a coin purse. “Here, here’s two dollars. That’s all I can let you have, but you’ll be able to get the bus both ways.” She held the crumpled bills out to him. “Now you make sure you get home in time for dinner.”
    “Well, gee, Ma. I mean, I might have some business to talk over. He might ask me to have dinner with him. I can’t just break away and say I’ve got to get home, my folks expect me home for dinner.”
    “Well, if you find that you’re going to be delayed, you call up. Just