“And here's one for you.” He squared his body and lifted his cup:
“To all your little ones—no matter how big they are!”
Jim drained his liquor without apparently noticing her agitation, though he was watching her keenly from the corner of his eye.
The cup she held was lowered slowly until the whiskey poured over her dress and on the floor. Her thin figure drooped pathetically and her voice was the faintest sob:
“I—I—ain't got—none!”
“I heard you had a boy,” Jim said carelessly.
The drooping figure shot upright as if a bolt of lightning had swept her. She stared at him in tense silence, trying to gather her wits before she answered.
“Who told you anything about me?” she demanded sternly.
“A fellow in New York,” Jim continued with studied carelessness—“said he used to live down here.”
“He LIVED down here?” she repeated blankly.