Manley, upon the front seat beside Hank, gave his shoulders an impatient twitch. “Fifty thousand dollars,” he replied glumly.
“I'm glad you're real modest about it,” Arline retorted sharply. She was beginning to tell herself quite frequently that she “didn't have no time for Man Fleetwood, seeing he wouldn't brace up and quit drinkin.”
Val's lips curled as she looked at Manley's back. “What I should like,” she said distinctly, “is a great, big pile of wood, all cut and ready for the stove, and water pails that never would go empty. It's astonishing how one's desires eventually narrow down to bare essentials, isn't it? But as we near the place, I find those two things more desirable than a piano!” Then she bit her lip angrily because she had permitted herself to give the thrust.
“Why, you poor thing! Man Fleetwood, do you—”
Val impulsively caught her by the arm. “Oh, hush! I was only joking,” she said hastily. “I was trying to balance Manley's wish for fifty thousand dollars, don't you see? It was stupid of me, I know.” She laughed unconvincingly. “Let me guess what the surprise is. First, is it large or small?”
“Kinda big,” tittered Arline, falling into the spirit of the joke.
“Bigger than a—wait, now. A sewing machine?”
Arline covered her mouth with her hand and nodded dumbly.
“You say all the neighbors gave it and the dance helped pay for it—let me see. Could it possibly be—what in the world could it be? Manley, help me guess! Is it something useful, or just something nice?”
“Useful,” said Arline, and snapped her jaws together as if she feared to let another word loose.