Chapter Two. PETER opened his eyes. He lay still on the great double bed, the mists of slumber sluggishly clearing from his mind

PETER opened his eyes. He lay still on the great double bed, the mists of slumber sluggishly clearing from his mind. He stretched out his hands. His right hand hit the dent of the pillow where Esther had lain beside him. It was still warm from her. The sound of her voice in the kitchen telling Doris to hurry up and eat or she'd be late to school completed his awakening. He got out of bed, his long nightshirt trailing the floor, and made his way to the chair over which his clothes were thrown.

He took the nightshirt off and got into his union suit, then into his trousers. Sitting down in the chair he pulled on his stockings and his shoes, and then proceeded to the bathroom. He turned the water on in the tap, took down his shaving-mug, and began to mix up a lather. He began to hum. It was an old man song he remembered from his youth.

Mark came toddling into the bathroom. "Daddy, I gotta make pee," he said.

His father looked down at him. "Well, go ahead, you're a big boy now."

Mark finished his business, then looked up at his father, who was stropping his razor. "Can I get a shave today?" he asked.

Peter looked at him seriously. "When did you shave last?"

Mark rubbed his fingers over his face as he had seen his father do many times. "Day before yesterday", he said, "but my beard grows fast."

"All right," Peter said as he finished stropping the razor. He handed Mark the shaving-cup and brush. "Put on the lather while I finish." He began to shave.

Mark covered his face with lather and then waited patiently for his father to finish. He didn't speak while his father was shaving, for he knew that shaving was a very important and delicate act and if you were interrupted you might cut yourself. At last his father was through and he turned to Mark. "Ready?" he asked.

Mark nodded. He didn't dare open his mouth to speak be­cause he had covered it with lather and if he did he would swallow some.

Peter knelt down near him. "Turn your head," he told Mark. Mark turned his head and shut his eyes. "Don't cut me," he said.

"I'll be careful," his father promised. Peter turned the razor so that the back of it was against Mark's face and began to wipe off the lather.

A few seconds and he was through. He stood up. "You're all finished now," he said.

Mark opened his eyes and rubbed his face with his hand. "Smooth now," he said happily.

Peter smiled down at him while he rinsed the razor and dried it. Then he carefully laid it away in its case and rinsed out the mug and brush. He finished washing the spots of lather off his face, and after drying himself he picked Mark up and swung him to his shoulders. "Let's go in to eat now," he said.

They paraded into the kitchen and he swung Mark into his chair. He sat down in his own chair.

Doris came over and kissed him. "Good morning, Daddy," she said in her high clear voice.

He squeezed her. "Gut’ morgen, liebe kind, zeese kind." That was the way he always spoke to her. Especially since Mark was born. Mart was his favorite and he had a guilty

feeling about it, and so he made more of a fuss over Doris than he had before Mark was born.

She went back to her chair and sat down. Peter looked at She was a pretty little girl. Her golden hair was tied in braids up around her head, and her blue eyes were soft and warm. Her cheeks were fair and rosy in color. Peter felt good. She had been a sick little child and because of her they had moved to Rochester from the crowded lower East Side of New York.

Esther came over to the table carrying a plate. Heaped high on it and giving off deliciously tantalizing odors were scrambled eggs, smoked salmon, and onions, all fried together in butter.

Peter sniffed. "Lox and eggs!" he exclaimed. "How did you manage it, Esther?"

She smiled proudly. Lox was something you couldn't get in Rochester, but she had had some sent from New York. "My cousin, Roochel, sent it from New York," she told him.

He looked at her as he filled his plate. She was a year younger than he, still slim, still good-looking, with the same dark beauty that had first attracted him when he came to work in her father's hardware store right after he had come to America. She wore her thick black hair tied up in the back in the style of the times, her brown eyes gazed levelly and serenely from out of a round smooth face. She began to fill Mark's plate.

"I got a shave," Mark told her.

"I can see," she answered, giving the side of his face a rub with the back of her hand. "Very nice."

"When can I start shaving myself?" he asked.

Doris laughed. "You're too young yet," she said. "You don't even have to shave now."

"I do too," he protested.

Be quiet and eat," Esther told them.

By the time she sat down Peter was almost finished. Taking out his watch, he looked at it; then, gulping down his coffee, he ran down the stairs to open his shop. He didn't say anything as he left the table. No one seemed to mind it. Papa was always late in opening the store and it was a few minutes after eight o’clock now.

The morning passed by slowly. There wasn't any business; it was too warm for the time of year, and the heat kept people from becoming ambitious enough to attempt any extra work.

About eleven o'clock a drayman came into the store. He walked over to Peter. "What time does the guy next door open up?" he asked, jerking a thumb in the direction of Johnny's place.

"About twelve," Peter answered. "Why?" "I got a machine to deliver, but I find the place shut up and I can't come back."

"Knock on the door," Peter told him, "He sleeps in back of the place and you can get him out."

"I have," the drayman replied, "but there's no answer." "Wait a minute," said Peter, reaching under his counter for a key; "I'll let you in."

The drayman followed him into the street. Peter knocked at the door. There was no answer. He looked through the win­dow, but couldn't see anything. He put the key in the lock and turned it. The door opened and they stepped in. Peter went directly to the back room. The door was closed. Peter knocked at it softly. No reply. He opened the door and looked in. Johnny wasn't there. He turned to the drayman.

"I guess you might as well bring it in," he said; "Johnny's probably gone out for a while."

Peter went out into the street while the drayman unloaded the machine. Curiously he looked at it; it was something he had never seen before. "What is it?" he asked.

"A moving-picture machine," the drayman answered. "It throws pictures on a screen and they move."

Peter shook his head. "What will they think of next?" he wondered aloud. "Do you think it really works?"

The drayman grunted. "Yeah, I seen 'em in New York." When the machine was in the shop, Peter signed the receipt for it, locked the door, and promptly forgot about it until half past three, when Doris came home from school. "Daddy, why isn't Uncle Johnny open yet?" He looked down at her, puzzled. He had already forgotten about the morning. "I don't know," he said slowly. Together they walked out into the street and looked at the penny arcade. He peered in the window. There was no sign of movement inside. The crate delivered that morning still lay where the

drayman had placed it. He turned to Doris. "Run upstairs and get Mamma to come down and stay in the store for a minute."

He stood there in the street waiting until Esther came down. "Johnny hasn't opened up yet," he told her. "Stay in the store while I look in his place."

After he had opened the door he walked slowly to the back room. This time he entered the room and found the note on the floor. He picked it up and read it. Slowly he went back into his own store and handed the note to Esther.

She read it and looked at him questioningly. "He's gone?"

There was a hurt sort of look in his eyes. He didn't seem to hear her question. "I feel like it's my fault. I shouldn't have let him take the place."

She looked at him understandingly. She, too, had grown fond of Johnny. "You couldn't help it, Peter. You tried to stop him."

He took the note back from her and read it again. "The kid didn't have to run off like that," he said. "He could have told me."

"I guess he was a little ashamed," Esther said.

Peter shook his head. "I still can't understand it. We were his friends."

Suddenly Doris, who was standing near them listening sol­emnly to what they were saying, began to cry. Her parents turned to look at her.

"Isn't Uncle Johnny ever coming back?" she wailed.

Peter picked her up. "Sure he is," he told her. "He says in the note he's coming back to take you on all the carnival rides."

Doris stopped crying and looked at her father. Her eyes grew big and round. "Honest?"

"Honest," Peter answered, looking at his wife over the child's head.