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"
And
a
Victrola
cabinet
of
1920
made
into
a
liquor
cabinet
.
"
"
Ah
.
"
"
And
,
sir
,
listen
:
framed
signed
picture
of
Jean
Harlow
.
"
The
man
goggled
at
him
.
"
Shall
we
make
arrangements
?
"
Childan
said
,
seizing
this
correct
psychological
instant
.
From
his
inner
coat
pocket
he
brought
his
pen
,
notebook
.
"
I
shall
take
your
name
and
address
,
sir
and
lady
.
"
Afterward
,
as
the
couple
strolled
from
his
store
,
Childan
stood
,
hands
behind
his
back
,
watching
the
street
.
Joy
.
If
all
business
days
were
like
this
…
but
it
was
more
than
business
,
the
success
of
his
store
.
It
was
a
chance
to
meet
a
young
Japanese
couple
socially
,
on
a
basis
of
acceptance
of
him
as
a
man
rather
than
him
as
a
yank
or
,
at
best
,
a
tradesman
who
sold
art
objects
.
Yes
,
these
new
young
people
,
of
the
rising
generation
,
who
did
not
remember
the
days
before
the
war
or
even
the
war
itself
—
they
were
the
hope
of
the
world
.
Place
difference
did
not
have
the
significance
for
them
.
It
will
end
,
Childan
thought
.
Someday
.
The
very
idea
of
place
.
Not
governed
and
governing
,
but
people
.
And
yet
he
trembled
with
fear
,
imagining
himself
knocking
at
their
door
.
He
examined
his
notes
.
The
Kasouras
.
Being
admitted
,
no
doubt
offered
tea
.
Would
he
do
the
right
thing
?
Know
the
proper
act
and
utterance
at
each
moment
?
Or
would
he
disgrace
himself
,
like
an
animal
,
by
some
dismal
faux
pas
?
The
girl
’
s
name
was
Betty
.
Such
understanding
in
her
face
,
he
thought
.
The
gentle
,
sympathetic
eyes
.
Surely
,
even
in
the
short
time
in
the
store
,
she
had
glimpsed
his
hopes
and
defeats
.
