“I’m sure——” he answered, with vague politeness. But nevertheless he did resent it; that was Frankie’s business and his business, and not Minnie’s. She held them both in her power, however, and he was obliged to answer her.
“I’ve about five hundred dollars a year,” he said stiffly, “that’s all. I’m looking about for a job of some sort.”
“What business have you been in?”
“None. Except for a few weeks with my brother.”
“No.... Not exactly. We’re not on good terms.”
“That’s too bad! What do you expect to find? What sort of job?”
“I don’t know. Frankie used to suggest things. She knew the country better than I, of course.”
“Poor Frankie! And that’s what you were counting on—some sort of work!”
She sighed.