Certainly expected to pick up a paper and see Miss Flynn's photo in it"
Minnie wanted to scream at the thought of their hidden laughter. She was a failure, and because of it she had lost her popularity. In such moments of loneliness and ostracism, Minnie, filled with self-pity, sought comfort in Billy's arms. He held her on his lap, and they rocked back and forth in the squeaky rocker. She could close her eyes, relax, and dream of the future. Billy was nice—and nobody's fool. He would do very well in a few years. . . . Hesselman had no relations and he couldn't live on forever. . . . Billy and she would have a flat in the Bronx. Children, of course. And on Saturday night they'd all go to a vaudeville show. . . . She'd probably get fat like her mother. But Billy was like her father. He would never forget how she had looked when she was young, and he would always love her, work for her, fight for her, and protect her. . . . If only he didn't sleep with his mouth open, and soap could rub from off his hands the odor of cold storage meat and the entrails of fowl and animals. . . .
Talking about meat was another thing that sickened Minnie. And Billy talked of nothing else. Cuts, ribs, livers, bones, the rise in beef, the fall in lamb, the weight of each new carcass. He took great pride in the new meat grinder Hesselman had bought. He urged Minnie to come into the shop late one afternoon just before closing time to see it. With a proprietary air he led her over to it. It was red, and the knives were new and highly polished.
"I'll let you turn the handle, honey, while I throw the meat in. Just old scraps so we won't waste nothin'."
Minnie turned the handle. Billy, grinning, passed in several pieces of discolored meat. Minnie turned away.
"Look at it, sweetheart," triumphantly from Billy. "A
