"Then for the next rice pudding."
He took the quarters. He held them a second and then he put them in his pocket, carefully, like they were worth more than fifty cents. At the door he stopped, the way he'd stopped the day before.
"Do you live near here?" he said.
"Few blocks."
"In a house?"
"In a house. With my father. He's sick, he's got bad lungs from the mill. Why?"
"Is it a big house?"
I laughed. I couldn't help it. "It's a tiny house with a bad porch step. Why, are you looking to buy?"
He didn't laugh. He looked at me with that pond face. "Does it have a yard?"
"It has a yard the size of this counter. There's a crab apple tree. Casey, hon, what—"
"See you tomorrow," he said, and the bell rang, and he was gone.