The Cat's Pajamas

“All right,” said Walter, with reluctance. “You want everything on yours?”

“The works!”

Walter loped across the hot sands. Leaping up to the walk he passed into the odorous shadow of the stand where he stood tall and dignified and flute-lipped. “Two hot dogs, with everything on them, to go out, please,” he said.

The man behind the counter had his spatula in his hand. He just examined Walter inch by inch, in great detail, with that spatula twitching in his lean fingers. He didn’t speak.

When Walter got tired of standing there, he turned and walked out.

Jingling the money on his big palm, Walter walked along, pretending he didn’t care. The jingle stopped when Bill caught hold of him.

“What happened, Walt?”

“That man just looked at me and looked at me, that’s all.”

Bill turned him around. “Come on! We’ll get those hot dogs or I’ll know why in hell not!”

Walter held off. “I don’t want no trouble.”

“Okay. Damn it. I’ll get the dogs. You wait here.”

Bill ran over and leaned against the shadowy counter.

Walter saw and heard plainly all that happened in the next ten seconds.

The hot dog man snapped his head up to glare at Bill. He shouted, “Damn you, blackie. You here again!”

There was a silence.

Bill leaned across the counter, waiting.

The hot dog man laughed hastily. “Well, I’ll be damned. Hello, Bill! There’s a glare from the water—you looked just like—What’ll you have?”

Bill seized the man’s elbow. “I don’t get it? I’m darker than him. Why are you kissing my butt?”

The proprietor labored at his answer. “Hey, Bill, you standing there in the glare—”

“God damn you to hell!”

Bill came out into the bright light, pale under his suntan, took Walter’s elbow and started walking.

“Come on, Walt. I’m not hungry.”

“That’s funny,” said Walt. “Neither am I.”

THE TWO WEEKS ended. Autumn came. There was a cold salt fog for two days, and Walt

er thought he’d never see Bill again. He walked down along the boardwalk, alone. It was very quiet. No horns honking. The wooden frontings of the final and last hot dog stand had been slammed down and nailed fast, and a great lonely wind ran along the chilling gray beach.

On Tuesday there was a brief bit of sunlight and, sure enough, there was Bill, stretched out, all alone on the empty beach.

“Thought I’d come down just one last time,” he said as Walt sat down beside him. “Well, I won’t see you again.”

“Going to Chicago?”

“Yeah. No more sun here, anyway; at least not the kind of sun I like. Better get along east.”

“I suppose you better,” said Walter.