Easter, and also the shop is the polling
place for our district, so Pop's in there every Election Day. He always
buys some little bunch of flowers Election Day because he figures the guy
ought to get some business having his shop all messed up for the day.

Dad comes back and goes over to the desk and scratches off a fast note. He
says, "Here. Address it to Tom and go mail it right away. Palumbo says
he'll try him out at least. Tom can come over Thursday night and I'll take
him in."

Tom comes home with Pop Thursday about nine o'clock. They both look pretty
good. Mom has cold supper waiting, finishing off the icebox before we go
away, so we all sit down to eat.

"Tom's all set, at least for a start," Dad says. "He's going to start
Tuesday, right after Labor Day. Palumbo can use him on odd jobs and
deliveries, especially over the Jewish holidays, and then if he can learn
the business, he'll keep him on."

"Never thought I'd go in for flower-arranging." Tom grins. "But it might
be fun. I'm pretty fair at any kind of handiwork."

Remembering how quick he unlocked the padlock to get Cat out in the
cellar, I agree.

He starts for his room after supper, and we all say "good luck," "have a
good time," and stuff. Things are really looking up.

I get up early the next morning and help Mom button up around the house
and get the car loaded before Pop gets home in the afternoon. He hoped to
get off early, and I've been pacing around snapping my fingers for a
couple of hours when he finally arrives about six o'clock. It's a hot day
again.

I don't say anything about Cat. I just dive in the back seat and put him
behind a suitcase and hope he'll behave. Pop doesn't seem to notice him.
Anyway he doesn't say anything.

It's mighty hot, and traffic is thick, with everyone pouring out of the
city. But at least we're moving along, until we get out on the Hutchinson
River Parkway, where some dope has to run out of gas.

All three lanes of traffic are stopped. We sit in the sun. Pop looks
around, hunting for something to get sore about, and sees the back windows
are closed. He roars, "Crying out loud, can't we get some air, at least?
Open those windows!"

I open them and try to keep my hand over Cat, but if you try to hold him
really, it makes him restless. For the moment he's sitting quiet, looking
disgusted.

We sit for about ten minutes, and Pop turns off the motor. You can
practically hear us sweating in the silence. Engi