POCHER
Reckon he’ll come ’roun’ termorrer wid his wagon.
LUCY BELLE
Gwine ter pay me?
POCHER
Pay yo’ fo’ w’at?
LUCY BELLE
Yo’ been yere free days dis week.
(He glares at her, gives a snort, drops the portmanteau, thrusts a hand down in his pocket and brings out a small, soiled bag, tied at the top with a string. He unties the string, fumbles around in the bag, finally pulls out a dirty, torn one-dollar bill.)