For, whatever the recurring circumstance that was to conclude in this unprecedented rain of nickels upon Uncle Jake’s head, he just couldn’t seem to pin down how he’d put his windfall to use: Invest in a new pair of suspenders? Spring for a night on the town? Make a solo flight across the Atlantic, or as far from Aunt Polly as earthly geography would allow? Who could say?

Maybe Herbert Hoover, but not Uncle Jake.

One Sunday supper (after an exceptionally languorous tea), when Uncle Jake happened to observe: If I had a nickel fer every time I heard Roozyvelt on the radio, Eve simply couldn’t stand it. She couldn’t abide it. Not in good Christian conscience.

—What, Uncle Jake? she implored (after dropping her knife and fork on her plate). What is it exactly that you would do, once you had all those goddamn nickels?

Alice opened wide the translucent lids of her amphibian eyes.

—Young lady! said Evelyn’s mother, her face as pink as her ham.

And Evelyn’s father? He simply looked forlorn.

So, in order to spare him the discomfort of administering a reprimand, Evelyn pushed back her chair and sent herself to her room. But as she climbed the stairs, she smiled to hear Aunt Polly declaim:

—Well, I never!

Now that, thought Evelyn, was an expression that Aunt Polly had every reason to make use of.

•

AS EVE FINISHED HER Coffee, a dark green Packard pulled to the curb and its chauffeur leapt from the driver seat in order to open the passenger door.

—Sorry, Miss Ross, he said. I had to go to three newsstands to find it!

—No problem, Billy. Thanks for running it down.

Once in the car, Billy handed the latest issue of Gotham into the back, and Eve made herself comfortable. The lead story was an exposé on the knuckleheads who’d vied to build the tallest skyscraper in the world. The drawing on the cover showed the Empire State Building in a boxing ring with its gloves in the air as the Chrysler Building lay flat on its back—and Sigmund Freud looked on from a ringside seat.

Eve laughed out loud.

That image had Katey’s fingerprints all over it!

As Eve turned through advertisements in search of the cover story, Billy gave three quick glances into the rearview mirror.

—Are you headed back soon, Miss Ross?

—What’s that, Billy?

—I was just wondering if you’re headed back to New York?

—Oh, I’m not much for heading back, Billy.

He gave what looked like a nod of understanding and then he stole another few glances in the mirror, apparently in the mood to converse.

Eve closed her magazine.

—How about you, Billy? How are things down at the Corral?

He pulled himself up by the wheel.

—Jim-dandy, Miss Ross. You know that niche I was telling you about?

—Sure, Billy. I remember.

—Well, I think I found it!