“It’s—it’s like that other time you found me—” His bluster had gone. He was not sure of his voice. Even these few words had been hard. He did not try more.
“There, there, there!” she whispered. “It’s all right, everything’s all right. Your mother’s got you right here and she ain’t ever going to let you go—never going to let you go.”
She was patting his head in rhythm with her rocking as she snuggled and soothed him. There was silence for another interval. Then she began to croon a song above him as she rocked, though the lyric was plainly an improvisation.
“Did he have his poor old mother going for a minute? Yes, he did. He had her going for a minute, for a minute. Yes, he had her going good for a minute.
“But oh, he won’t ever fool her very long, very long, not very long, because he can’t fool his dear old mother very long, very long; and he can bet on that, bet on that, so he can, bet a lot of money on that, that, that!” Her charge had grown still again, but she did not relax her tightened arms.
“Say,” he said at last.
“Well, honey.”
“You know those benches where we wait for the cars?”
“Do I know them?” The imperative inference was that she did.
“I looked at the store yesterday. The sign down there says ‘Himebaugh’s dignified system of deferred payments.’”