heart, he will grant your wish.


TONY'S WIFE

"Gimme fi' cents worth o' candy, please." It was the little Jew
girl who spoke, and Tony's wife roused herself from her knitting
to rise and count out the multi-hued candy which should go in
exchange for the dingy nickel grasped in warm, damp fingers.
Three long sticks, carefully wrapped in crispest brown paper, and
a half dozen or more of pink candy fish for lagniappe, and the
little Jew girl sped away in blissful contentment. Tony's wife
resumed her knitting with a stifled sigh until the next customer
should come.

A low growl caused her to look up apprehensively. Tony himself
stood beetle-browed and huge in the small doorway.

"Get up from there," he muttered, "and open two dozen oysters
right away; the Eliots want 'em." His English was unaccented.
It was long since he had seen Italy.

She moved meekly behind the counter, and began work on the thick
shells. Tony stretched his long neck up the street.

"Mr. Tony, mama wants some charcoal." The very small voice at
his feet must have pleased him, for his black brows relaxed into
a smile, and he poked the little one's chin with a hard, dirty
finger, as he emptied the ridiculously small bucket of charcoal
into the child's bucket, and gave a banana for lagniappe.