Whatcha payin’?”
“Two and a half cents.”
“Why, goddamn it, a man can’t make his dinner!”
“That’s what we’re payin’.
There’s two hundred men coming from the South that’ll be glad to get it.”
“But, Jesus, mister!”
“Go on now.
Either take it or go on along.
I got no time to argue.”
“But——”
“Look.
I didn’ set the price.
I’m just checking you in.
If you want it, take it.
If you don’t, turn right around and go along.”
“Twenty-five, you say?”
“Yes, twenty-five.”
Tom dozed on his mattress.
A stealthy sound in the room awakened him.
His hand crept to the rifle and tightened on the grip.
He drew back the covers from his face.
Rose of Sharon was standing beside his mattress.
“What you want?” Tom demanded.
“You sleep,” she said. “You jus’ sleep off.
I’ll watch the door.
They won’t nobody get in.”
He studied her face for a moment.
“O.K.,” he said, and he covered his face with the blanket again.
In the beginning dusk Ma came back to the house.
She paused on the doorstep and knocked and said,
“It’s me,” so that Tom would not be worried. She opened the door and entered, carrying a bag.
Tom awakened and sat up on his mattress.
His wound had dried and tightened so that the unbroken skin was shiny.
His left eye was drawn nearly shut. “Anybody come while we was gone?” Ma asked.
“No,” he said. “Nobody.
I see they dropped the price.”
“How’d you know?”
“I heard folks talkin’ outside.”
Rose of Sharon looked dully up at Ma.
Tom pointed at her with his thumb.
“She raised hell, Ma.
Thinks all the trouble is aimed right smack at her.
If I’m gonna get her upset like that I oughta go ’long.”
Ma turned on Rose of Sharon.
“What you doin’?”
The girl said resentfully,
“How’m I gonna have a nice baby with stuff like this?”
Ma said,
“Hush!
You hush now.