“I have the hosiery right here, deary. Beauties, ain’t they?”
Ma Harper spread one of the filmy stockings over her rough, callous hand. The silk was fine and beautiful, unquestionably pre-war and of black market origin.
“Yes, they are lovely,” Penny said nervously. “But the truth is, I haven’t five dollars with me. I’ll have to come back later.”
Ma Harper’s dark eyes snapped angrily.
“Then what you been takin’ my time for?” she demanded. “Say—” she accused with sudden suspicion, her gaze roving to the boat which now was close to the pier, “—you seem in a mighty big hurry to get away from here all at once!”
“Why, no, it’s just that the taxi man is waiting, and it’s getting late.”
“What’s your name anyhow?”
“Penny Parker.”
“Where do you live?”
“I am a summer vacationist.”