"What is it, mother? You better get Annie in on Mondays. We 'ain't got any more to show without her than with her."
"Harry, we—have!"
"Well, you just had an instance of the thanks you get."
"Harry, what—what would you say if I could let you have nearly all of that three thousand?"
He regarded her above the flare of a match to his cigar-end.
"Huh?"
"If I could let you have twenty-six hundred seventeen dollars and about fifty cents of it?"
He sat well up, the light reflecting in points off his polished glasses.
"Mother, you're joking!"
Her hands were out across the table now, almost reaching his, her face close and screwed under the lights.