Free Dinky Hocker Shoots Smack! by M. E. Kerr Page A

open house for the takers around here. Give us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses, and we’ll feed them and put them on the dole.”
    Everyone was still standing.
    Mr. Knight said, “Johnny’s still sore at me. We’d saved some money to buy him a good watch, and I spent it.”
    “He gave it to some migrant workers,” P. John said. “Another of his donations.”
    “You blew a wad on Weight Watchers, Johnny,” Mr. Knight said. “You could have bought a couple of watches with that.”
    They seemed to forget Tucker was in the room.
    “I earned every cent of it myself, working in Brentano’s,” P. John said.
    “And I admire you, Johnny, but you’re still better off than a migrant worker.”
    “Sometimes I wonder.”
    “You go to a private school. You have a nice, respectable job after school in a bookstore. You can buy a little Christmas gift for your girl,” Mr. Knight said. “I don’t sing any sad songs for you, Johnny.”
    “You sing them all for tramps and beggars and migrant workers,” P. John said. “Don’t I know that !”
    Tucker managed to think of something to say finally. “What’s your book about, Mr. Knight?” he said.
    “It’s called Reason and Responsibility ,” Mr. Knight answered. “It’s about sharing privilege.”
    “It’s about handouts,” P. John said.
    The noise of the spaghetti boiling over in the kitchen interrupted the conversation. Mr. Knight ran in to attend to it.
    “I like him,” Tucker told P. John.
    “I don’t dislike him,” P. John answered.
    “This is going to be delicious spaghetti, Johnny,” Mr. Knight called from the other room. “Even better than last night.”
    “He really likes it that I’m fat,” P. John said. “It’s the only way he can feel superior to me.”
    Tucker didn’t know what to answer. He said, “I never knew you worked in a bookstore.”
    “Tell her to try and call me,” P. John said, ending the conversation and leading Tucker toward the door. “Every time I call her they say she’s out.”

EIGHT
HELP YOURSELF TO CHRISTMAS
    HELP YOURSELF: OPENING DECEMBER 26THON MONTAGUE STREET!
    * Give a basket of Natural Foods.
    * Give a Juicer, a Sprouter, a Yogurt Maker.
    * Give healthy fruit & nut mixes.
    * Give a darn about your/her/his/their health this CHRISTMAS!
    T UCKER’S MOTHER WAS TENDING the booth at the church bazaar.
    “Where’ve you been?” she said. “It’s almost six o’clock.”
    “I stopped by at this guy’s apartment.”
    “P. John Knight’s apartment?” his mother said.
    “Yeah.”
    “Tucker, I want to talk to you about him.”
    “What about him?”
    “Not here. Jingle’s going to relieve me at six,” she said. “Do you want to have dinner with me at the deli?”
    “Sure,” Tucker said. “I’d like to see Dinky Hocker first. Is she here?”
    “She’s here,” Mrs. Woolf said, “but I think we’d better have a talk before you see her.”
    Jingle arrived in a large fur hat, smiling, reeking of martinis. He said to Tucker’s mother, “Cal went into New York today to see about that job, didn’t he?”
    “How much gin did it take to give you the courage to ask that question?” she said.
    “I don’t need him, anyway,” Jingle answered. “I’ll run the store myself. My way.”
    “Just don’t smoke too many cigarettes while you mind the booth,” she said. “It doesn’t look good.”
    “Tucker and I don’t care how things look, do we, Tucker?” Jingle said. He shoved his elbow into Tucker’s side and winked. “You take after your uncle, don’t you, Tucker? We don’t care how things look. Let ’em talk,” and he laughed as though he and Tucker shared a private joke.
    At the deli, Tucker asked his mother, “What did Jingle mean?”
    “I’m going to get to that, Tucker,” she said. “Jingle overheard a conversation I had this afternoon with Mrs. Hocker.”
    “Didn’t you go to work today?”
    “I took the day off to help at the bazaar. Your father went to see about