‘Al right,’ George said. ‘What you going to do with us afterwards?’
‘That’ll depend,’ Max said. ‘That’s one of those thing you never know at the time.’
George looked up at the clock. It was a quarter past six. The door from the street opened. A street-car motorman came in.
‘Hello, George,’ he said. ‘Can I get supper?’
‘Sam’s gone out,’ George said. ‘He’ll be back in about half an hour.’
‘I’d better go up the street,’ the motorman said. George looked at the clock. It was twenty minutes past six.
‘That was nice, bright boy,’ Max said ‘You’re a regular little gentleman.’
‘He knew I’d blow his head off,’ Al said from the kitchen.
‘No.’ said Max. ‘It ain’t that. Bright boy is nice. He’s a nice boy. I like him.’
At six-fifty-five George said: ‘He’s not coming.’



















