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Updated: June 16, 2025
"My error," she laughed, "she stoops to stoops to anyways We'll drink to Jelly-bean ... Mr. Jim Powell, King of the Jelly-beans." And a few minutes later as Jim waited hat in hand for Clark in the darkness of that same corner of the porch where she had come searching for gasolene, she appeared suddenly beside him. "Jelly-bean," she said, "are you here, Jelly-bean?
With a flood of insight he knew that Merritt must despise him, that even Nancy's kiss in the dawn would have awakened not jealousy but only a contempt for Nancy's so lowering herself. And on his part the Jelly-bean had used for her a dingy subterfuge learned from the garage. He had been her moral laundry; the stains were his.
"Jim," asked Clark casually, as they rattled through the jasmine-scented night, "how do you keep alive?" The Jelly-bean paused, considered. "Well," he said finally, "I got a room over Tilly's garage. I help him some with the cars in the afternoon an' he gives it to me free. Sometimes I drive one of his taxies and pick up a little thataway. I get fed up doin' that regular though." "That all?"
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