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from the restaurant where he owed for the drinks。 His books； a
white suit； and some shirts were all there as he had packed
them。 Quickly he began to dress himself。
An electric coffee…pot was perking on the table by the
47
time he had his clothes on。 The man reached into the pocket of
the vest that hung over the back of a chair。 He brought out a
card and Jake took it questioningly。 The man's name—John
Singer—was engraved in the center； and beneath this； written
in ink with the same elaborate precision as the engraving；
there was a brief message。
I am a deaf…mute； but I read the lips and understand what is
said to me。 Please do not shout。
The shock made Jake feel light and vacant。 He and John
Singer just looked at each other。
'I wonder how long it would have taken me to find that out；' he
said。
Singer looked very carefully at his lips when he spoke…he had
noticed that before。 But a dummy！
They sat at the table and drank hot coffee out of blue cups。
The room was cool and the half…drawn shades softened the
hard glare from the windows。 Singer brought from his closet a
tin box that contained a loaf of bread； some oranges； and
cheese。 He did not eat much； but sat leaning back in his chair
with one hand in his pocket。 Jake ate hungrily。 He would have
to leave the place immediately and think things over。 As long
as he was stranded he ought to scout around for some sort of
job in a hurry。 The quiet room was too peaceful and
comfortable to worry in —he would get out and walk by
himself for a while。
'Are there any other deaf…mute people here？' he asked。 *You
have many friends？'
Singer was still smiling。 He did not catch on to the words at
first； and Jake had to repeat them。 Singer raised his sharp； dark
eyebrows and shook his head。
'Find it lonesome？'
The man shook his head in a way that might have meant either
yes or no。 They sat silently for a little while and then Jake got
up to leave。 He thanked Singer several times for the night's
lodging； moving his lips carefully so that he was sure to be
understood。 The mute only smiled again and shrugged his
shoulders。 When Jake asked if he could leave his suitcase
under the bed for a few days the mute nodded that he could。48
Then Singer took his hands from his pocket and wrote
carefully on a pad of paper with a silver pencil。 He shoved the
pad over toward Jake。
/ can put a mattress on the floor and you can stay here until
you find a place。 I am out most of the day。 It will not be any
trouble。
Jake felt his lips tremble with a sudden feeling of gratefulness。
But he couldn't accept。 'Thanks；' he said； 'I already got a place。'
As he was leaving the mute handed him a pair of blue
overalls； rolled into a tight bundle； and seventy…five cents。 The
overalls were filthy and as Jake recognized them they aroused
in him a whirl of sudden memories from the past week。 The
money； Singer made him understand； had been in his pockets。
'Adios；' Jake said。 Til be back sometime soon。'
He left the mute standing in the doorway with his hands still
in his pockets and the half…smile on his face。 When he had
gone down several steps of the stairs he turned and waved。
The mute waved back to him and closed his door。
Outside the glare was sudden and sharp against his eyes。 He
stood on the sidewalk before the house； too dazzled at first by
the sunlight to see very clearly。 A youngun was sitting on the
banisters of the house。 He had seen her somewhere before。 He
remembered the boy's shorts she was wearing and the way she
squinted her eyes。
He held up the dirty roll of overalls。 1 want to throw these
away。 Know where I can find a garbage can？'
The kid jumped down from the banisters。 'It's in the back yard。
I'll show you。'
He followed her through the narrow； dampish alley at the side
of the house。 When they came to the back yard Jake saw that
two Negro men were sitting on the back steps。 They were both
dressed in white suits and white shoes。 One of the Negroes
was very tall and his tie and socks were brilliant green。 The
other was a light mulatto of average height。 He rubbed a tin
harmonica across his knee。 In contrast with his tall companion
his socks and tie were a hot red。
The kid pointed to the garbage can by the back fence
49
and then turned to the kitchen window。 'Portia！' she called。
'Highboy and Willie here waiting for you。
'
A soft voice answered from the kitchen。 'You neen holler so
loud。 I know they is。 I putting on my hat right now。
'
Jake unrolled the overalls before throwing them away。 They
were stiff with mud。 One leg was torn and a few drops of
blood stained the front。 He dropped them in the can。 A Negro
girl came out of the house and joined the white…suited boys on
the steps。 Jake saw that the youngun in shorts was looking at
him very closely。 She changed her weight from one foot to the
other and seemed excited。
'Are you kin to Mister Singer？' she asked。
'Not a bit。
'
'Good friend？
'
'Good enough to spend the night with him。
'
'I just wondered
'
'Which direction is Main Street？
'
She pointed to the right Two blocks down this way。
'
Jake combed his mustache with his fingers and started off。 He
jingled the seventy…five cents in his hand and bit his lower lip
until it was mottled and scarlet。 The three Negroes were
walking slowly ahead of him； talking among themselves。
Because he felt lonely in the unfamiliar town he kept close
behind them and listened。 The girl held both of them by the
arm。 She wore a green dress with a red hat and shoes。 The
boys walked very close to her。
'What we got planned for this evening？' she asked。
'It depend entirely upon you； Honey；' the tall boy said。 〃Willie
and me don't have no special plans。'
She looked from one to the other。 'You all got to decide。'
'Well' said the shorter boy in the red socks。 'Highboy and
me thought m…maybe us three go to church。'
The girl sang her answer in three different tones。 'O— K—
And after church I got a notion I ought to go and set with
Father for a while—just a short while。' They turned at the first
corner； and Jake stood watching them a moment before
walking on。
The main street was quiet and hot； almost deserted。 He had
not realized until now that it was Sunday—and the thought of
this depressed him。 The awnings over the closed stores were
raised and the buildings had a bare look in the50
bright sun。 He passed the New York Cafe。 The door was open；
but the place looked empty and dark。 He had not found any
socks to wear that morning； and the hot pavement burned
through the thin soles of his shoes。 The sun felt like a hot
piece of iron pressing down on his head。 The town seemed
more lonesome than any place he had ever known。 The
stillness of the street gave him a strange feeling。 When he had
been drunk the place had seemed violent and riotous。 And
now it was as though everything had come to a sudden； static
halt。
He went into a fruit and candy store to buy a paper。 The Help…
Wanted column was very short。 There were several calls for
young men between twenty…five and forty with automobiles to
sell various products on commission。 These he skipped over
quickly。 An advertisement for a truck…driver held his attention
for a few minutes。 But the notice at the bottom interested him
most It read：
Wanted—Experienced Mechanic。 Sunny Dixie Show。 Apply
Corner Weavers Lane & 15th Street。
Without knowing it he had walked back to the door of the
restaurant where he had spent his time during the past two
weeks。 This was the only place on the block besides the fruit
store which was not closed。 Jake decided suddenly to drop in
and see Biff Brannon。
The cafe was very dark after the brightness outside。
Everything looked dingier and quieter than he had
remembered it。 Brannon stood behind the cash register as
usual； his arms folded over his chest。 His good…looking plump
wife sat filing her fingernails at the other end of the counter。
Jake noticed that they glanced at each other as he came in。
'Afternoon；' said Brannon。
Jake felt something in the air。 Maybe the fellow was laughing
because he remembered things that had happened when he
was drunk。 Jake stood wooden and resentful。 'Package of
Target； please。' As Brannon reached beneath the counter for
the tobacco Jake decided that he was not laughing。 In the
daytime the fellow's face was not as hard…looking as it was at
night He was pale as though
51
he had not slept； and his eyes had the look of a weary
buzzard's。
'Speak up；' Jake said。 'How much do I owe you？'
Brannon opened a drawer and put on the counter a public…
school tablet。 Slowly he turned over the pages and Jake
watched him。 The tablet looked more like a private notebook
than the place where he kept his regular accounts。 There were
long lines of figures； added； divided； and subtracted； and little
drawings。 He stopped at a certain page and Jake saw his last
name written at the corner。 On the page there were no figures
—only small checks and crosses。 At random across the page
were drawn little round； seated cats with long c