“No. It is very wrong,” said Anderson.
“You bet 'tis. I knew a boy in New York State, where we used to live before we came here, that stole candy 'most every day, and he used to bring it to school and give the other boys. He used to give me much as a pound a day. Some days he used to give me much as five pounds.” Then Eddy Carroll, after delivering himself of this statement, could not get his young, black eyes away from the fixed regard of the man's keen, blue ones, and he began to wriggle as to his body, with his eyes held firm by that unswerving gaze. “What you looking at me that way for?” he stammered. “I don't think you're very polite.”
“How much candy did that boy give you every day?” asked Anderson.
Eddy wriggled. “Well, maybe he didn't give me more 'n half a pound,” he muttered.
“How much?”
“Well, maybe it wasn't more 'n a quarter. I don't know.”
“How much?” persisted Anderson.
“Well, maybe it might have been three pieces; it was a good many years ago. A fellow can't remember everything.”
“How much?” asked Anderson, pitilessly.
“One piece.”