Pretty laughed unpleasantly.
“Why not?” she asked, and promptly answered herself. “Guess her man’s taught her. However, I don’t blame her. Dollars are hard enough to come by in this place. Say, they tell me Eve’s gettin’ ’em in hundreds.”
“Thousands,” said Mrs. Rust, her eyes shining.
“Say, ain’t she lucky?” exclaimed Jane. “I don’t care who knows it. I envy her good an’ plenty. Thousands! Gee!”
“I don’t know she’s to be envied a heap,” said Mrs. Rust. “I ’lows all men has their faults, but Will Henderson ain’t no sort of bokay of virtues. He’s a drunken bum anyway.”
“An’ he knocks her about,” added Pretty, with a snap.
“But he’s pilin’ up the dollars for her,” Jane urged, still lost in serious contemplation of the fabulous sums her simple mind attributed to Eve’s fortune.
But Pretty Wilkes had no sympathy with such excuses.
“Well, dollars or no dollars, I wouldn’t change places 197 with Eve for a lot. Guess there’s some folk as would sell their souls for dollars,” she said, eyeing Jane Restless severely. “But if dollars means having Will Henderson behind ’em, I’d rather get out an’ do chores all my life.”
“Guess you’re right,” acquiesced Mrs. Rust, thoughtfully. “Will’s a whiskey souse an’ poker playin’ bum. What I sez is, give me a fool man like my Rust, who’s no more sense than to beat hot iron, an’ keep out o’ my way when I’ve a big wash doin’.”