"Oh, am I!" They were both shouting now to be heard above the train that was rocking by next to them, brakes squealing to a stop. "Well let's see you put your arm in there if you are so damn smart."
"Childish!"
It was late and Chester was tired and his temper was frayed. The train shuddered to a halt behind him. He ran toward the end of the platform, digging in his pocket and pulling out all of his loose change.
"Here," he shouted, pushing the flap of the waste bin in an inch and pouring the coins through the gap. "Money. Plenty dimes, pennies. Plenty Cokes, peanuts. You grab and eat next person who comes here." Behind him Adriann was laughing. The train doors shooshed open and the old bum shuffled into the car.
"That's your Queens train.” Adriann said, still laughing. "Better take it before the things get you. I'm waiting for the uptown local."
"Take this.” he said, still angry, holding out his newspaper to her. "This is so funny, you're not superstitious — let's see you put this in the basket." He jumped for the train doors, catching them just as they closed.
"Of course, darling.” she called, her face red from laughing. "And I'll tell the office about it tomorrow—" The doors slid shut cutting off the rest of her words.
The train shuddered a bit and started to move. Through the dirt-stained glass he saw her walk to the waste container and shove the paper in through the flap. One of the pillars came between them as the train picked up speed.
The he saw her again and she still had her hand to the lid — or had she poked her arm in up to the elbow? — it was hard to tell through the dirty glass. Then another pillar, they were beginning to flicker by. Another glimpse and with the blurred window and the bad light he couldn't be sure but it looked as if she was bent over and had poked her head into the opening.
This window was no good. He ran the few steps to the rear of the car where a larger — and somewhat cleaner — window was set into the rear door. The train was halfway down the platform now, swaying as it picked up speed and he had a last glimpse of her before the row of pillars merged into a blur that cut off vision completely.
She couldn't possibly be halfway into that container, the flapped opening certainly wasn't big enough for a person to get through. Yet how else to explain that he had seen just her skirt and legs sticking out, wiggling wildly in the air?
Of course it had been only a blurred glimpse and he was mistaken. He turned back to the empty car — no, not empty. The bum slumped in a seat, already asleep.
The ragged man looked up at Chester, gave him a quick, secretive grin, then closed his eyes again. Chester went to the other end of the car and sat down. He yawned and scrunched lower.
He could doze until they reached his station, he always woke up in time.
It would be nice if the copy chief's job was still open; he could use the extra money.
"11 A.M.!!!" the note blared at him, pinned to the upper right corner of his drawing board. "MARTIN'S OFFICE!!" He had lettered it himself with a number 7 brush, funereal India ink on harsh yellow paper, big letters, big words.
Big end to everything. Pachs tried to make himself believe that this was just another one of Martin's royal commands: a lecture, a chewing-out, a complaint. That's what he had thought when he had knocked out the reminder for himself, before Miss Fink's large watery eyes had blinked at him and she had whispered hoarsely, "It's on order, Mr. Pachs, coming today, I saw the receipt on his desk. A Mark IX." She had blinked moistly again, rolled her eyes towards the closed door of Martin's office then scurried away.
