“Now it’s all right.
You bring in your slip an’ I’ll get my dime back.”
Ma studied him.
Her hand went blindly out and put the little bag of sugar on the pile in her arm.
“Thanks to you,” she said quietly.
She started for the door, and when she reached it, she turned about. “I’m learnin’ one thing good,” she said. “Learnin’ it all a time, ever’ day.
If you’re in trouble or hurt or need—go to poor people.
They’re the only ones that’ll help—the only ones.” The screen door slammed behind her.
The little man leaned his elbows on the counter and looked after her with his surprised eyes.
A plump tortoise-shell cat leaped up on the counter and stalked lazily near to him.
It rubbed sideways against his arms, and he reached out with his hand and pulled it against his cheek.
The cat purred loudly, and the tip of its tail jerked back and forth.
Tom and Al and Pa and Uncle John walked in from the orchard when the dusk was deep.
Their feet were a little heavy against the road.
“You wouldn’ think jus’ reachin’ up an’ pickin’d get you in the back,” Pa said.
“Be awright in a couple days,” said Tom. “Say, Pa, after we eat I’m a-gonna walk out an’ see what all that fuss is outside the gate.
It’s been a-workin’ on me.
Wanta come?”
“No,” said Pa. “I like to have a little while to jus’ work an’ not think about nothin’.
Seems like I jus’ been beatin’ my brains to death for a hell of a long time.
No, I’m gonna set awhile, an’ then go to bed.”
“How ’bout you, Al?”
Al looked away.
“Guess I’ll look aroun’ in here, first,” he said.
“Well, I know Uncle John won’t come.
Guess I’ll go her alone.
Got me all curious.”
Pa said,
“I’ll get a hell of a lot curiouser ’fore I’ll do anything about it—with all them cops out there.”
“Maybe they ain’t there at night,” Tom suggested.
“Well, I ain’t gonna find out.
An’ you better not tell Ma where you’re a-goin’.
She’ll jus’ squirt her head off worryin’.”
Tom turned to Al.
“Ain’t you curious?”
“Guess I’ll jes’ look aroun’ this here camp,” Al said.
“Lookin’ for girls, huh?”
“Mindin’ my own business,” Al said acidly.
“I’m still a-goin’,” said Tom.
They emerged from the orchard into the dusty street between the red shacks.
The low yellow light of kerosene lanterns shone from some of the doorways, and inside, in the half-gloom, the black shapes of people moved about.
At the end of the street a guard still sat, his shotgun resting against his knee.
Tom paused as he passed the guard.
“Got a place where a fella can get a bath, mister?”
The guard studied him in the half-light. At last he said,
“See that water tank?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, there’s a hose over there.”
“Any warm water?”
“Say, who in hell you think you are, J. P. Morgan?”