“Yeah, nobody's goin' to ask you HOW you got it,” Nance repeated, “they just want to know HAVE you got it! Yeah—yeah!”
“You bet!”
Jim's head sank in the first stupor of liquor and he dropped into the chair.
The old woman leaned eagerly over the plate of gold and clutched the coin with growing avarice. Her fingers opened and closed like a bird of prey. She touched it lovingly and held it in her hands a long time watching Jim's nodding head with furtive glances. She dropped a handful of coin into the plate and watched its effect on the drooping head.
He looked up and his eyes fell again.
“Bed-time, I reckon,” Nance said.
“Yep—pretty tired. I'll turn in.”
The old woman glided sidewise to the table near the kitchen door, picked up the lantern and started to feel her way backwards through the calico curtains.
“See you in the mornin', old gal,” Jim drawled—“Christmas mornin'—an' I got somethin' else to tell ye in the mornin'——”
Again his head sank to the table.