can not mind your own business? Ah hahve not spik to you!”
“No, brother. But this is my friend, an' I'll be john-browned if there's a monkey-chaser in Harlem can gyp him if I know it, see? Bes' thing f' you to do is catch air, toot sweet."
Sensing frustration, the little islander demanded the bill back. Uggam figured he could use the bill himself, maybe. The West Indian hotly persisted; he even menaced. Uggam pocketed the paper and invited him to take it. Wisely enough, the caller preferred to catch air.
When he had gone, King Solomon sought words of thanks.
“Bottle it,” said Uggam. “The point is this: I figger you got a job.”
"Job? No I ain't! Wha' at?"
“When you show Tony this bill, he'll hit the roof and fire that monk."
“What ef he do?”
“Then you up 'n ask f' the job. He'll be too grateful to refuse. I know Tony some, an' I'll be there to put in a good word. See?"
King Solomon considered this. “Sho' needs a job, but ain' after stealin' none."
“Stealin'? 'Twouldn't be stealin'. Stealin's what that damn monkey-chaser tried to do from you. This would be doin' Tony a favor, an' gettin' y'self out o' the barrel. What's the hold-back?"
“What make you keep callin' him monkey-chaser?”
“West Indian. That's another thing. Any time y' can knife a monk, do it. They's too damn many of 'em here. They're an achin' pain.”
"Jess de way white folks feels 'bout niggers."
“Damn that. How 'bout it? Y' want the job?”
“Hmm-well—I'd ruther be a policeman.”
"Policeman?” Uggam gasped.
“M-hm. Dass all I wants to be, a policeman, so I kin police all de white-folks right plumb in jail!”
Uggam said seriously, “Well, y might work up to that. But it takes time. An' y've got to eat while y're waitin'." He
