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Chicago in February was still cold.
Although it was now 1943, and the world war in Europe and Asia was raging at its fiercest,
Chicago, far from the battlefield and as the most important industrial city in the U.S., was still enjoying peace and prosperity.
The streets bustling with traffic during the day, stores filled with dazzling goods, gentlemen and ladies coming and going — the liveliness was no less than that of the 21st century.
If not for the occasional war posters pasted along the streets, it would be hard to believe that on the other side of the world, the largest and deadliest war in history was underway.
But none of this had anything to do with Josh.
At that moment, he was wrapped in an oversized coat that didn't fit his frame, crossing the busy street and entering a shop by the roadside.
"Look around if you need something!"
As the bell on the door rang crisply, the elderly shop owner inside said without even lifting his head.
It was a general store, selling everything from small items like scissors and cutlery to larger items like radios and vinyl records, all neatly arranged in their places.
But Josh wasn't there to buy — he was there to sell.
"I heard you buy gold here," Josh walked straight to the counter and asked the elderly owner, who was fiddling with an old radio.
Hearing this, the old man finally looked up slightly, glanced at him, and was a bit surprised to see a boy about fifteen or sixteen years old, but still nodded.
Josh didn't hesitate. He pulled a pouch from inside his coat and placed it on the counter, opening it to reveal the gold jewelry inside.
"Huh? Looks kind of like Native American craftsmanship, but not quite. Where'd you get it?" the shop owner asked with some surprise upon seeing the gold.
"What? Is Native American craftsmanship worth more?" Josh didn't answer but asked in return.
"Not really — it doesn't suit the public's taste," the old shopkeeper shrugged. The "public's taste" here, of course, meant white people's preferences. The rugged Native American style couldn't attract the attention of wealthy ladies, so the only fate for this gold was to be melted down.
"How much can you offer then?" Josh asked again. He didn't care about the craftsmanship, because he knew this jewelry wasn't actually Native American.
"Don't rush, kid! Wait a moment!" the shopkeeper said in a calming tone, then turned around and began searching slowly.
Seeing this, Josh wasn't in a hurry either. He had already checked beforehand — this was one of the well-known, old general stores in the neighborhood, and also functioned as a "pawnshop."
And he was only selling gold — not anything illegal.
Well... if you followed the law passed by Roosevelt a decade ago, private gold trading was indeed illegal, a law that wouldn't be fully repealed until the Nixon era over twenty years later.
But in reality, since the start of WWII, that law had already become less strictly enforced.
With the influx of war refugees, the U.S. government largely turned a blind eye to private gold transactions. So small-scale gold trading was quite common.
Of course, the safest method was still to sell gold to the bank at the official price of thirty-five dollars per ounce, which translates to about 28 grams per ounce.
But that would be a big loss.
Because by now, the street price of gold had already risen to fifty dollars per ounce.
A fifteen-dollar difference — that wasn't a small number.
Especially given how powerful the U.S. dollar's purchasing power was in those days.
Take a big city like Chicago, for example — a regular meal with coffee, meat, and vegetables in a diner would cost only fifty to sixty cents. A large hamburger? Just twenty cents.
So for an ordinary person, fifteen dollars could mean over a week of eating out in comfort.
And the amount of gold Josh brought this time wasn't small — ten ounces. That meant a price difference of $150 — which was already two to three months' salary for an average person.
Don't be fooled by the 1943 U.S. per capita income reportedly being over a thousand dollars.
We all know how misleading "per capita" can be.
In reality, if an average city dweller made seven or eight hundred dollars a year, they were already considered to have a high income.
Why did so many young Americans eagerly enlist during WWII?
Wasn't it because the army paid well?
A private's base salary was fifty dollars per month. With each rank, it rose by ten to twenty dollars. Once you made it to sergeant, you could earn a hundred dollars a month — not even counting bonuses.
So a hundred and fifty dollars was no small amount.
Josh didn't have too much gold, so he wasn't about to give up that big margin to the U.S. bank. That's why he was willing to take a small risk.
Fortunately, the shopkeeper didn't pull any tricks and soon came back with some tools — a measuring cup, water, a scale, and so on.
"This gold isn't very pure — about eighty percent. I can only offer forty per ounce," the shopkeeper concluded after weighing and testing its density.
"Deal!"
Josh wasn't surprised by this result. He knew the gold wasn't high-purity — after all, it came from a world with underdeveloped metallurgy, where even steel couldn't be smelted, let alone refined gold.
So he readily agreed to the price.
"Good. Total is 9.8 ounces. I won't shortchange you — let's count it as ten. Here's four hundred dollars. Take it, kid!"
Seeing Josh agree so quickly, the shopkeeper didn't drag things out. He pulled out a roll of cash from under the counter, removed two bills, and handed the rest to Josh.
Josh took the roll, removed the rubber band, and counted eight fifty-dollar bills — not one too many or too few.
After all, America hadn't entered the credit card era yet, so large bills weren't rare. Unlike the 21st century, where fifty-dollar bills are hard to come by.
"Can you break this fifty for me? Fives are best, tens are okay too," Josh said after counting the money, confirming it was genuine, and pushing one fifty-dollar bill back.
Although large bills weren't rare, having no small change was still inconvenient due to the high purchasing power.
The shopkeeper said nothing, just nodded and exchanged it for a roll of five-dollar bills.
Josh counted and confirmed it was correct, then re-bundled the money and tucked it into his pocket, ready to leave.
"If you've got more, you can always come to me. Old Hawk's got a good reputation in this neighborhood!" the shopkeeper called out as Josh was heading out the door.
"Of course!"
Josh paused slightly at the words, nodded, and then stepped out.