Humoresque Page #3

in my stocking. Will you fix it?

It's the last decent pair I've got.

- Phil, is that you?

- Yeah. They got new signs in the park now.

Instead of saying, "Please keep off the

grass," they say, "Don't eat the grass."

- Any luck?

- There's nothing, Mom.

Not one job between

the Battery and the Palisades.

- It's like banging your head against a wall.

- Did you eat?

No, I'm not hungry. What are you

doing home? Get canned, did you?

- I could go and get your job.

- You're welcome to it.

They got a new idea.

I gotta go back to work tonight.

Open evenings for the rest

of the summer, three times a week.

The customer's always right.

Does he have to play

that violin all the time?

He's not bothering anybody.

I'll crawl in a hole till his nibs

gets the urge to stop playing.

I'll retire from the human race.

Don't make any noise,

Paul is practicing.

Don't go in the room, Paul is studying.

Don't do this, don't do that.

It's coming out of my ears.

- He's working hard.

- He's working hard?

Oh, I forgot. I'm the one who

isn't working. I'm on a vacation.

I go strolling every morning to smell

the flowers and look at the birds.

Sure, he's the busy bee in this hive.

Poor Paul, working his fingers to the bone

to support a no-good brother.

Philip is right, Esther.

We're one family.

- What's good for one is good for the other.

- Don't blame him, Rudy.

What can he do? Help like

everyone else. Is that too much to ask?

This practicing, these teachers.

He'll never amount to anything.

- It's not for us.

- But, Rudy...

Look at the Jeffers boy.

He plays music too.

But at least he's on the radio.

He gets paid.

- It's different with Paul.

- Don't he eat?

Don't he wear clothes?

What's different?

- What's wrong with getting a job?

- There's nothing wrong.

- But if you can be a...

- Statistics show...

...there's one of those in a million.

Philip, put your shoe on, please.

Paul Boray.

The genius who lives

over a grocery store?

- Now, Esther...

- Paul.

Happy days.

What's right is right.

I was just...

My father keeps saying

it's a waste of time.

He doesn't understand me

or my ambitions.

Nobody sits on my head.

I'm not gonna be a parasite.

From now on,

I pay my way. I want a job.

At 3:
00 in the morning?

What kind of a job?

Playing violin.

What else do I know?

That's just what this Depression needs,

another violin player. Cigarette?

No thanks, I've got one.

Hire a costume and play gypsy

variations in a Hungarian restaurant.

- Don't horse me around, Sid.

- I'm not, Paul. I'm not.

You're such a schnook. You think

decisions are made with flashlight bulbs.

Pop, and I'm a gypsy fiddler,

or pop, I'm a virtuoso.

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