He would have liked to get the job for Jakey, who needed it, but
somehow the task of facing Mr. Wicker, especially now that the light
was going and dusk edging into the streets, was not what Chris had
intended for ending the afternoon. Although he had not been quite
certain how he had meant to spend the rest of the remaining daylight,
Mike's plan did not seem to fit his present mood.

"Are you coming?" Mike challenged, with a hint of derision.

"Yes," said Chris suddenly, "I'm coming. I'll ask for Jakey."

Mike's expression changed at once to one of triumph, but Chris was
only partly encouraged.

The two boys walked to the corner of M Street and Wisconsin Avenue.
Traffic roared up the first short block of Wisconsin from under the
high steel freeway down to their left.

Chris glanced down the slope of Wisconsin. Houses and shops thinned
suddenly on both sides of the street. Far down at the very end, on his
side, he could see the brick walls and slate roof of Mr. Wicker's
house. Chris knew it well, for times without number he had pressed his
nose to the square Georgian panes of Mr. Wicker's window to gaze at
the strangely fascinating jumble of oddments that were displayed. Now,
however, he felt in no mood to visit the curiosity shop and stood
shifting his feet and looking aimlessly about. Mike, beside him, was
becoming restive, and gave him a poke.

"Betcha aren't goin' after all!"

Chris turned on him. "Am too!"

Mike looked disdainful. "Aw--you're stalling!"

"Not any sucha thing. I'm going now."

"O.K. Let's see you."

Chris turned his back on Mike and started down the hill. After a step
or two, not finding his friend beside him, he turned. Mike was
standing on the corner.

"Hi!" Chris called, indignant. "You said you were coming with me!"

"Well, I was," Mike howled back, "but I just remembered. My mother
told me to bring her some stuff from the Safeway. I'll run all the way
and come back and meet you."

"Aw shucks!" Chris kicked at a nonexistent pebble and scowled. But a
chore was a chore, and was never worth discussion.

"I'll meetcha in fifteen or twenty minutes," Mike shouted. "It won't
take me long," and throwing out his hands to signify that there was
nothing he could do about it he disappeared.

Chris started off once more, passing the bleak little Victorian church
perched on the hill above Mr. Wicker's house. An empty lot cut into by
Church Lane gave a look of isolation to the L-shaped bric