"I come to pay vot I loan," Petersen mumbled. His hand came forth from the pocket grasping a roll of bills as big as his wrist. He unwrapped three tens and silently held them out.
Tom, who had watched this action through with dumb amazement, now broke out: "Where d'you get all that money? Where've you been?"
The three tens were still in Petersen's outstretched hand. "For vot you give de union, and vot you give me."
"But where've you been?" Tom demanded, taking the money.
Fear, shame, and contrition struggled for control of Petersen's face. But he answered doggedly: "I vorked at de docks."
"You know that's not so, Petersen. You haven't been home for a week. And your wife's scared half to death."
"Anna scared? Vy?" He started, and his brown face paled.
"Why shouldn't she be?" Tom returned wrathfully. "You went off without a word to her, and not a word from you for a week! Now see here, Petersen, where've you been?"
"Vorkin' at de docks," he repeated, but weakly.
"And got that wad of money for it! Hardly." He pushed Petersen firmly back into his chair. "Now you've got to tell me all about it."