“From Mother,” she says. “Did I get a letter from Mother?” she says, looking at me.
“Mother got one from her,” I says. “I haven’t opened it. You’ll have to wait until she opens it. She’ll let you see it, I imagine.”
“Please, Jason,” she says, not paying any attention, “Did I get one?”
“What’s the matter?” I says. “I never knew you to be this anxious about anybody. You must expect some money from her.”
“She said she—” she says. “Please, Jason,” she says, “Did I?”
“You must have been to school today, after all,” I says, “Somewhere where they taught you to say please. Wait a minute, while I wait on that customer.”
I went and waited on him. When I turned to come back she was out of sight behind the desk. I ran. I ran around the desk and caught her as she jerked her hand out of the drawer. I took the letter away from her, beating her knuckles on the desk until she let go.
“You would, would you?” I says.
“Give it to me,” she says, “You’ve already opened it. Give it to me. Please, Jason. It’s mine. I saw the name.”
“I’ll take a hame string to you,” I says. “That’s what I’ll give you. Going into my papers.”
“Is there some money in it?” she says, reaching for it. “She said she would send me some money. She promised she would. Give it to me.”
“What do you want with money?” I says.
“She said she would,” she says, “Give it to me. Please, Jason. I wont ever ask you anything again, if you’ll give it to me this time.”