Big Money by John Dos Passos Read Free Book Online

turn out a bum like your old man.” They all laughed. They didn’t know what to say.
    She took her glasses off again and tried to reach for the bedside table with them. The glasses dropped out of her hand and broke ontheconcretefloor. “Oh . . . my . . . never mind, I don’t need ’em much here.”
    Charley picked the pieces up and put them carefully in his vest pocket. “I’ll get ’em fixed, Ma.”
    The nurse was standing in the door beckoning with her head. “Well, goodby, see you tomorrow,” they said.
    Once they were out in the corridor Charley felt that tears were running down his face.
    â€œThat’s how it is,” said Jim, frowning. “They keep her under dope most of the time. I thought she’d be more comfortable in a private room, but they sure do know how to charge in these damn hospitals.” “I’ll chip in on it,” said Charley. “I got a little money saved up.” “Well, I suppose it’s no more than right you should,” Jim said.
    Charley took a deep breath of the cold afternoon when they paused on the hospital steps, but he couldn’t get the smell of ether and drugs and sickness out of his head. It had come on fine with an icy wind. The snow on the streets and roofs was bright pink from the flaring sunset.
    â€œWe’ll go down to the shop and see what’s what,” said Jim. “I told the guy works for me to call up some of the newspaperboys. I thought it would be a little free advertising if they came down to the salesroom to interview you.” Jim slapped Charley on the back. “They eat up this returnedhero stuff. String ’em along a little, won’t you?”
    Charley didn’t answer.
    â€œJesus Christ, Jim, I don’t know what to tell ’em,” he said in a low voice when they got back in the car. Jim was pressing his foot on the selfstarter. “What do you think of comin’ in the business, Charley? It’s gettin’ to be a good un, I can tell you that.” “That’s nice of you, Jim. Suppose I kinder think about it.”
    When they got back to the house, they went around to the new salesroom Jim had built out from the garage, that had been a liverystable in the old days, back of old man Vogel’s house. The salesroom had a big plateglass window with
Ford
slanting across it in blue letters. Inside stood a new truck all shining and polished. Then there was a green carpet and a veneered mahogany desk and a telephone that pulled out on a nickel accordion bracket and an artificial palm in a fancy jardiniere in the corner. “Take your weight off your feet, Charley,” said Jim, pointing to the swivelchair and bringing out a box of cigars. “Let’s sit around and chew the rag a little.”
    Charley sat down and picked himself out a cigar. Jim stood against the radiator with his thumbs in the armholes of his vest. “What do you think of it, kid, pretty keen, ain’t it?”
    â€œPretty keen, Jim.” They lit their cigars and scuffled around with their feet a little.
    Jim began again: “But it won’t do. I got to get me a big new place downtown. This used to be central. Now it’s out to hell and gone.”
    Charley kinder grunted and puffed on his cigar. Jim took a couple of steps back and forth, looking at Charley all the time. “With your connections in the Legion and aviation and all that kinder stuff, we’ll be jake. Every other Ford dealer in the district’s got a German name.”
    â€œJim, can that stuff. I can’t talk to newspapermen.”
    Jim flushed and frowned and sat down on the edge of the desk. “But you got to hold up your end. . . . What do you think I’m taking you in on it for? I’m not doin’ it for my kid brother’s pretty blue eyes.”
    Charley got to his feet. “Jim, I ain’t goin’ in on it. I’m already