“I’m going to, if you’ll give me time,” I says. I took the letter and the money order out and gave her the letter. She reached for the money order, not hardly glancing at the letter. “You’ll have to sign it first,” I says.
“How much is it?” she says.
“Read the letter,” I says. “I reckon it’ll say.”
She read it fast, in about two looks.
“It dont say,” she says, looking up. She dropped the letter to the floor. “How much is it?”
“It’s ten dollars,” I says.
“Ten dollars?” she says, staring at me.
“And you ought to be damn glad to get that,” I says, “A kid like you. What are you in such a rush for money all of a sudden for?”
“Ten dollars?” she says, like she was talking in her sleep, “Just ten dollars?” She made a grab at the money order. “You’re lying,” she says. “Thief!” she says, “Thief!”
“You would, would you?” I says, holding her off.
“Give it to me!” she says, “It’s mine. She sent it to me. I will see it. I will.”
“You will?” I says, holding her, “How’re you going to do it?”
“Just let me see it, Jason,” she says, “Please. I wont ask you for anything again.”
“Think I’m lying, do you?” I says. “Just for that you wont see it.”