The Last Gentleman

woman, squeezing past her as if she were an irate shopper in Macy’s basement. On the way he brushed against Jiggs, who immediately fell back and began to crouch and wave him in with his fingertips.
    â€œCome on, come on,” said Jiggs.
    But it was the pseudo-Negro who caught his attention. He had come between the engineer and Jiggs and shook his head sadly and good-naturedly. “Hold on, fellows,” he said, undoing his cuff link. “I’m afraid there’s been a rather pathetic misunderstanding here—a sad commentary in fact on the fraility of us all. Fellows—”
    â€œNo,” cried the engineer angrily. “Don’t roll up your sleeve.”
    â€œGo ahead and roll up your sleeve,” cried Jiggs, misunderstanding, dancing ominously and now waving the pseudo-Negro into him.
    The engineer groaned. “No. I—” he began, taking another step toward the grinning alpiner. Here was the villain!
    But in that instant, even as he was passing the woman, whom he had forgotten, she drew back her fist clear to her earlobe and, unleashing a straight whistling blow, struck the engineer on the fleshy part of his nose, which was already swollen and tender from hay fever.
    Oh, hideous exploding humiliating goddamnable nose pain, the thump-thud of woe itself. Oh, ye bastards all together. “Come here,” he thought he heard himself say as he struggled to get at the alpiner—did he hit him?—but the next thing he knew he was sitting on the front steps enveloped by the dreadful cordiality of misunderstandings cleared away, of debits to be balanced. The bastards, friends and foe, were all apologizing to each other. As he held his nose, he saw the pseudo-Negro rolling his sleeve down. He had shown them his white patch.
    Only Mort Prince was still angry. “That’s not the point,” he was saying furiously to the householders, who, the engineer perceived instantly, were anxious for him to score his point. They were allowing him his anger. Everyone felt bad. The engineer groaned.
    â€œI thought they were blockbusters, for Christ’s sake,” Jiggs was telling a newcomer. “They been here,” he assured Mort Prince. “And they come from Jersey.”
    â€œI just want to make it damn clear I’m selling to anyone I please, regardless of race, creed, or national origin.”
    â€œMe too! That’s just what I was telling Lou here.”
    â€œAnd hear this,” said the writer, massaging his wristlet grimly. “If there is any one thing that pisses me off, its bigotry.”
    â€œYou’re right,” cried Jiggs. “Mr. Prince, if Mae and I didn’t have our savings in our house—listen, let me tell you!” But though everyone listened, he fell silent.
    â€œWe keep the lawr, Mr. Prince,” said the alpiner earnestly. Then, seeing a chance to put a good face on the whole affair, he laughed and pointed his chin toward the engineer. “Tiger over there though, he was coming for me. Did you see him? I’m telling you, he was coming and I was getting out of his way. Tiger.” Hand outstretched, he crossed to the engineer.
    The engineer held his nose and looked at the hand. He had had enough of the whole crew.
    â€œYou not from Jersey, fella?” asked the alpiner, for some reason taking off his hat. “Mae here said—now isn’t that something!” He called upon the neighborhood to witness the human comedy.
    The engineer did not answer.
    â€œYou don’t work for Oscar Fava?” cried the tall woman, meaning the question for the engineer, but not quite bringing herself to look at him. “You know Fava’s real estate over there, next to Pik-a-Pak,” she asked Jiggs and when he nodded she offered it to the engineer as a kind of confirmation, perhaps even an apology. “Over in Haddon Heights.”
    â€œI thought it was in Haddonfield,” said Jiggs. They argued the point as another earnest of their good faith. “You never been over to Tammy Lanes in Haddonfield?” Jiggs asked him.
    The engineer shook his head.
    â€œWasn’t that Oscar Fava come over last night?” Jiggs asked Mae.
    â€œAnd he was with him,” said the woman. “Him or his twin brother.”
    â€œYou know what I wish he would do,” the alpiner told the other householders, presuming to speak of the engineer fondly—a true character was he, this engineer,