“You still hungry?” frowned Wayne.
“I ain’ downright hungry,” answered June wistfully, “but I—I surely would act awful kind to a piece of that pie!”
“All right,” said Wayne. “How much is pie, sir?”
“Five cents. Want some?”
“Please. A slice of the squash.”
The proprietor, too busy with Sam to have heard the exchange, set the pie in front of Wayne, and the latter pushed it along to June.
“Did you say two pieces?” asked the man, poising his knife.
“No, thank you.”
June looked uncertainly from the tempting yellow triangle on the plate before him to Wayne and back again. “Ain’ you-all goin’ to have no pie?” he asked. Wayne shook his head. June laid down the fork and sniffed doubtfully. “What kind of pie you say this is, Mister Denny?” he asked.
“Huh? Squash pie.”