“Oh, she's always putting ten into things.”
“Putting ten into things?”
“Yes'm. I mean when she gets any money she always says ten will go into it so many times, and then she takes a tenth of it—you know we learn about tenths in fractions at school—and goes and puts it in a blue box she has.”
“I should call that taking ten out of things.”
“Well, whatever it is, that's what she does. Every time she gets ten cents she puts one cent in her blue box.”
“What does she do if she only gets five cents?”
“Oh, she keeps it very carefully till she gets another five, and then she takes her tenth out of it. And would you believe it, when we were all at Asbury Park last summer—”
“Marty,” interrupted her mother, “can't you tell me just as well sitting still? You fidget so that you make me dreadfully nervous. Can't you sit still?”
“I don't believe I can, but I'll try real hard,” said Marty, crowding herself into Freddie's little rocking-chair and clasping her arms around her knees, as if to hold herself still.
“Well, what about Asbury Park?” Mrs. Ashford asked.