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Mr
.
Baker
’
s
going
to
New
York
tomorrow
for
a
few
days
.
He
’
s
busy
as
a
bug
.
"
"
What
about
?
"
"
How
do
I
know
?
But
I
separate
the
mail
.
He
’
s
been
getting
a
lot
from
Albany
.
"
"
Politics
?
"
"
I
only
separate
it
.
I
don
’
t
read
it
.
Is
business
always
this
slow
?
"
"
Around
four
o
’
clock
,
yes
.
It
’
ll
pick
up
in
ten
minutes
or
so
.
"
"
You
see
?
You
’
ve
learned
.
I
bet
you
didn
’
t
know
that
before
you
went
broke
.
Be
seeing
you
.
Grab
the
gold
ring
for
a
free
ride
.
"
The
little
buying
spurt
between
five
and
six
came
on
schedule
.
The
sun
,
held
back
by
daylight
-
saving
,
was
still
high
and
the
streets
light
as
midafternoon
when
he
brought
in
the
fruit
bins
and
closed
the
front
doors
and
drew
the
green
shades
.
Then
,
reading
from
a
list
,
he
gathered
the
supplies
to
carry
home
and
put
them
all
in
one
big
bag
.
With
his
apron
off
and
his
coat
and
hat
on
,
he
boosted
up
and
sat
on
the
counter
and
stared
at
the
shelves
of
the
congregation
.
"
No
message
!
"
he
said
.
"
Only
remember
the
words
of
Satchel
Paige
.
I
guess
I
have
to
learn
about
not
looking
back
.
"
He
took
the
folded
lined
pages
from
his
wallet
,
made
a
little
envelope
for
them
of
waxed
paper
.
Then
,
opening
the
enamel
door
to
the
works
of
the
cold
counter
,
he
slipped
the
waxy
envelope
in
a
corner
behind
the
compressor
and
closed
the
metal
door
on
it
.
Under
the
cash
register
on
a
shelf
he
found
the
dusty
and
dogeared
Manhattan
telephone
book
,
kept
there
for
emergency
orders
to
the
supply
house
.
