From down the hall she heard the loud breathing of Johnnie Alberson—call it a light snore if you choose. Henrietta hesitated. Ill-fitting as Johnnie's short, wide trousers might be on slender-waisted Freeman, she knew a man will wear any garments in a crisis, and that Freeman would not be beneath stealing what he needed from the sleeper. Too, through her mind flashed the thought, “If John is awake, Freeman will not dare to make a loud fuss,” and she walked to Johnnie's door and rapped sharply upon it.
“We—well? Well?” came Johnnie's voice, slumber heavy. “What? What is it?”
“It's Henrietta,” she answered. “I want Lem. I want Lem to come to me.”
She heard Lem whine, “You leave me alone, you!” and then the reassuring voice of Johnnie, and the door opened a wide crack, and Lem, rubbing his eyes, stepped out. Freeman's door closed.
“Come with me, Lem,” she said, and led the half-awakened boy to her room. He staggered to her bed and threw himself upon it, asleep the moment he touched it.
“Lem!” she called sharply, standing over him.
The boy opened his eyes slowly, looking up into her face.
“Hello!” he said. “I—I been asleep, I guess—”
“Yes. That does n't matter. You will be all right presently. I want you to tell me the truth—the honest-to-God, cross-your-heart truth, Lem—about that money. Where did you get it, Lem?”
“I ain't goin' to tell you,” the boy said.