'You see which way he went?' I asked.

He studied me for a moment. 'Ah know whar he work,' he said. His expression didn't change.

I licked my lips, tried to keep the sick, scared feeling out of my eyes. 'Where?' I asked.

He stood there looking at me as if time meant nothing. A curious animal change came over his face. I noticed him take his hand out of his pocket. It struck me funny. But now we seemed closer, as if we'd struck an understanding or come to an agreement about something.

'He in de copper shop,' he said. 'He work on a 'chine down in de back end. You doan need tuh go through de shop, you ken cum in de back do'.'

I started off. My first step was wobbly, more from the sick, gone feeling in my stomach then from any effects of the blow. The coloured fellow stepped in beside me; his eyes slid from side to side.

'You got a chiv?' he asked.

I knew I didn't have one but I fanned myself. 'Musta left it in my box,' I said.

He looked around again, then slipped me his. I didn't look at it, but by its feel it must have been eight inches long. I slipped it in my pocket.

'Ah'da cut de bastard's throat mahself,' he said. 'But Ah thought you'd wanna do it yuhself.'

He split off and I kept on toward the copper shop. My hand rested on the knife in my pocket. I began thinking of how I ought to cut him. Whether I ought to slip up and begin stabbing him in the back, trying to get his heart; or wheel him about to face me and begin slashing him across the face, cutting out his eyes and slashing up his mouth. Maybe he'd be on the lookout for me, I thought, and would have a knife himself. Then we'd dodge about and keep cutting at each other until one dropped.