Usually on this first night of autumn Joe's shop was crowded with noisy
feet and voices of all sizes that squeaked one minute in a shrill
soprano and in the next sank to a ragged bass. Joe's shades were never
drawn and all the world could see the boys playing Old Maid and Rummy,
shooting caroms or sitting on the counter, swinging their feet, eating
apples and cracking nuts for themselves and Joe who was questioning
them about the day's happenings.
But to-night--involuntarily Joe turned and looked back into the soft
darkness of his little shop where the firelight flickered softly,
tenderly through the gloom. His heart cramped. Then he looked again
to the place where heavy curtains were drawn over dirty windows. He
caught again that muffled rough noise of young voices. And his mind
was made up.
He stepped back into his shop, turned on all the lights, put the basket
of ruddy apples on the counter, straightened the pile of old magazines
and pulled out the carom board, the box of chess and checkers. He took
a last housewifely look around, then put on his hat and coat and
started out. There was pain and anger and a terrible determination in
his usually gentle face.
But as he stepped to the door it opened, admitting Mrs.
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