by Marjorie Vowels I GOT so I didn't even ask his order. Each afternoon when I saw him coming down the stairs I just reached for a glass and made his coke soda. Everyday it's been the same for the last two years. You get to meet all kinds of people, working in a fountain the way I do. The fountain is situated in the basement of the largest department store in town. Besides the regular store there's a shoe repair, the Flower Box, the Candy Square, hosiery mending, foot doctor, optometrist, hemstitching and, of course, the fountain. There are so many people coming and going that we get to know very few of our customers. It seemed as if the little man was different from most folks. He didn't seem to have much money because he wore the same old suit of clothes everyday, and he always laid three nickels and three tokens on the counter to pay for his soda. I never had to make change for him. We didn't know what his name was. If I didn't see him coming down the stairs, Nita always said: "Stell, there's your friend at the counter." He always wanted me to wait on him. He just got used to me, I guess. One afternoon as Nita and I stood polishing glasses, we talked about the little man. I imagined him to be living on a pension, probably forgotten by his ungrateful children. Nita said: "I think he has kind of a saintly look. He ought to be a minister or priest." We both agreed on one thing though, the fact that he was lonely. After he had finished his soda, he always sat at the counter breaking numerous straws into bits. It seemed as if he wanted to talk to Nita and me, but there was always another customer for us to wait on. Saying but very little, he never gave us a clue to his identity; and, I guess it was because we knew so little that we tried so hard to find out who he was. He never spoke to anyone except Nita and me; and although we frequently asked people about him, we learned nothing. One Saturday afternoon I remarked to Nita about how different the day seemed. "It's because your friend hasn't come for his soda," she said. "It's the first time he's ever missed." By five I was watching the stairs and elevators, but it looked as if he weren't coming. After that I didn't have time to even think about him. We were busy with late shoppers and before I knew it was time to start cleaning up. The store closes at six. I was putting the limes away when a voice behind me said: "Is it too late for my soda?" I turned to see the little man sitting there same as ever. When I put the glass down on the counter, he said: "I'm a little late today." A bell rang five after six. In a few seconds that huge store which had been one mass of brilliant light became almost dark. Only a few spots of light remained where the clerks were totaling the day's sales and counting the money from their registers. The elevators were busy carrying the layaway packages to the second floor. And over at the fountain where we were scrubbing the counter and polishing the malt mixers, the little man sat, still drinking his soda. I asked him to pay me so I could check in my money. Laying three nickels and three tokens on the counter, he said: "It will be some time before I'll be in for another soda." As I watched him walk slowly towards the stairs, I pitied him. He looked so lonely. Nita said over my shoulder: "Poor guy probably can't even afford a soda." At the foot of the stairs the little man had turned into the lighted elevator, half filled with laway packages. I started to call that the boy was coming to run him up to first, but he slammed the door shut. "Well," I said to Nita; and as I turned to the mixers, the elevator hit the bottom bumpers with a crash. The coroner said he died instantly. His neck was broken along with almost every other bone in his body. He must have taken the elevator up to the top floor to gather enough speed to crash as he did. Of course, the affair never reached the papers. Publicity would have been bad for the store. The employees were asked to keep it quiet. His names was fames Dunn, and he had lived in a room on twenty-fifth street. The people there knew nothing more about him than that he paid his rent every week and appeared to have no friends. The police declared that there was no apparent cause for suicide, and yet that's what it must have been. He left his entire fortune to Nita and me three thousand to me and one thousand to Nita. It's the kind of thing that everyone dreams about, and it's the kind of a dream that rarely comes true. The police found the key to a safety deposit box in his room. Besides his will the box contained over two thousand dollars in defense bonds which were to be given back to the government. He left the money for his coffin, but of course there was no funeral there was no one to come. They held a short graveside service, and Nita and I laid off work to attend. We sent the only flowers. You see, we were his only friends. Page Three