Ed Norton stood at the bottom of the tenement stairs, lunch pail in hand, when Ralph came barreling down from the apartment above. His friend's face wore that bright, dangerous look — the one that always meant he'd thought of something. Ed braced himself. "Eddie, Eddie, I got it!" Ralph waved a piece of paper like a flag. "Pool tournament at that new place on Flatbush — twenty teams, five hundred dollar prize. We're in!" He thrust the receipt into Ed's hands. It was a television purchase slip. Ed's name was printed right there on the signature line, next to Ralph's. "I used you as my partner to get the entry discount. We win, we pay for the TV. We don't win, well..." Ralph's voice trailed off, but his grin stayed put. Ed stared at the receipt. The total sat there like a verdict: more than two months of sewer work. He could see Trixie's face when she found out — not angry, just that quiet way she had of looking at him when another promise slipped further away. But Ralph was already talking about chalk and angles and how they'd split the winnings. Ed folded the paper once, then twice, and put it in his pocket. "When's the tournament?" he asked. "Tonight! Eight o'clock!" Ralph clapped him on the shoulder. "I already scoped the place out. They got these brand new tables, real regulation stuff. And Eddie, I saw the competition — a bunch of amateurs. We'll clean up!" He grabbed Ed's arm and steered him toward the street. The neon sign of the pool hall glowed two blocks away, bright even in daylight. Ed walked alongside Ralph, the receipt heavy in his pocket, knowing he should say no but already figuring out what lie he'd tell Trixie about working late. The dining set she wanted felt further away than ever, but five hundred dollars split two ways — that was two-fifty. That was something. That was more than waiting had gotten him.