Somebody’s a-stealin’ toilet paper from Unit Four.”
From the doorway came a whining voice,
“Mis’ Bullitt.” The committee turned. “Mis’ Bullitt, I hearn what you says.” A flushed, perspiring woman stood in the doorway. “I couldn’ git up in meetin’. Mis’ Bullitt.
I jes’ couldn’.
They’d a-laughed or somepin.”
“What you talkin’ about?” Jessie advanced.
“Well, we-all—maybe—it’s us. But we ain’t a-stealin’, Mis’ Bullitt.”
Jessie advanced on her, and the perspiration beaded out on the flustery confessor.
“We can’t he’p it. Mis’ Bullitt.”
“Now you tell what you’re tellin’,” Jessie said. “This here unit’s suffered a shame ’bout that toilet paper.”
“All week, Mis’ Bullitt.
We couldn’ he’p it.
You know I got five girls.”
“What they been a-doin’ with it?” Jessie demanded ominously.
“Jes’ usin’ it.
Hones’, jes’ usin’ it.”
“They ain’t got the right!
Four-five sheets is enough.
What’s the matter’th ’em?”
The confessor bleated,
“Skitters.
All five of ’em.
We been low on money.
They et green grapes.
They all five got the howlin’ skitters. Run out ever’ ten minutes.” She defended them, “But they ain’t stealin’ it.”
Jessie sighed.
“You should a tol’,” she said.
“You got to tell.
Here’s Unit Four sufferin’ shame ’cause you never tol’.
Anybody can git the skitters.”
The meek voice whined,
“I jes’ can’t keep ’em from eatin’ them green grapes.
An’ they’re a-gettin’ worse all a time.”
Ella Summers burst out,
“The Aid.
She oughta git the Aid.”
“Ella Summers,” Jessie said, “I’m a-tellin’ you for the las’ time, you ain’t the Chair.” She turned back to the raddled little woman. “Ain’t you got no money, Mis’ Joyce?”
She looked ashamedly down.
“No, but we might git work any time.”
“Now you hol’ up your head,” Jessie said. “That ain’t no crime.
You jes’ waltz right over t’ the Weedpatch store an’ git you some grocteries.
The camp got twenty dollars’ credit there.
You git yourself fi’ dollars’ worth.
An’ you kin pay it back to the Central Committee when you git work.
Mis’ Joyce, you knowed that,” she said sternly. “How come you let your girls git hungry?”
“We ain’t never took no charity,” Mrs. Joyce said.
“This ain’t charity, an’ you know it,” Jessie raged. “We had all that out.
They ain’t no charity in this here camp.
We won’t have no charity.
Now you waltz right over an’ git you some grocteries, an’ you bring the slip to me.”