"What's the matter, mudda?"
It was one of the minutes when a touch made her frantic. "Get away!"
He got away, not through fear, but because she pushed him. He didn't mind that, though the rejection hurt him inside. He stood in the middle of the floor, pity in his young countenance, wondering what he could do for her, when she spoke again.
"I've got hardly any money left. I don't know what to do."
It was the first time his attention had been called to finance. He knew there was such a thing as money; he knew it had purchasing value; but he had not known its relation to himself.
"Why don't you get money where you got it before?"
"Because I ain't got a husband to die and leave me another five thousand dollars of insurance."
"And did you have, mudda?"
"Of course I had. What did you think?"