“Just a bright boy,” Max said. He leaned forward and took the ham and eggs. Both men ate with their gloves on. George watched them eat. “What are _you_ looking at?” Max looked at George. “Nothing.” “The hell you were. You were looking at me.” “Maybe the boy meant it for a joke, Max,” Al said. George laughed. “_You_ don’t have to laugh,” Max said to him. “_You_ don’t have to laugh at all, see?” “All right,” said George. “So he thinks it’s all right.” Max turned to Al. “He thinks it’s all right. That’s a good one.” “Oh, he’s a thinker,” Al said. They went on eating. “What’s the bright boy’s name down the counter?” Al asked Max. “Hey, bright boy,” Max said to Nick. “You go around on the other side of the counter with your boy friend.” “What’s the idea?” Nick asked. “There isn’t any idea.” “You better go around, bright boy,” Al said. Nick went around behind the counter. “What’s the idea?” George asked. “None of your damn business,” Al said. “Who’s out in the kitchen?” “The nigger.” “What do you mean the nigger?” “The nigger that cooks.” “Tell him to come in.” “What’s the idea?” “Tell him to come in.” “Where do you think you are?” “We know damn well where we are,” the man called Max said. “Do we look silly?” “You talk silly,” Al said to him. “What the hell do you argue with this kid for? Listen,” he said to George, “tell the nigger to come out here.” “What are you going to do to him?” “Nothing. Use your head, bright boy. What would we do to a nigger?” George opened the slit that opened back into the kitchen. “Sam,” he called. “Come in here a minute.” The door to the kitchen opened and the nigger came in. “What was it?” he asked. The two men at the counter took a look at him. “All right, nigger. You stand right there,” Al said. Sam, the nigger, standing in his apron, looked at the two men sitting at the counter. “Yes, sir,” he said. Al got down from his stool. “I’m going back to the kitchen with the nigger and bright boy,” he said. “Go on back to the kitchen, nigger. You go with him, bright boy.” The little man walked after Nick and Sam, the cook, back into the kitchen. The door shut after them. The man called Max sat at the counter opposite George. He didn’t look at George but looked in the mirror that ran along back of the counter. Henry’s had been made over from a saloon into a lunch-counter. “Well, bright boy,” Max said, looking into the mirror, “why don’t you say something?” “What’s it all about?” “Hey, Al,” Max called, “bright boy wants to know what it’s all about.” “Why don’t you tell him?” Al’s voice came from the kitchen. “What do you think it’s all about?” “I don’t know.” “What do you think?” Max looked into the mirror all the time he was talking. “I wouldn’t say.” “Hey, Al, bright boy says he wouldn’t say what he thinks it’s all about.”