“Dory Maybrook’s a fool; don’t tell me about her!”
“Well, I won’t. Ain’t I goin’ to have no more of that money?” It was Joe Colkett who spoke.
“You took five dollars last night,” said the woman. Her voice, strident and high-pitched, sent a shiver of discomfort through Dorothy. “Didn’t think no man would be mean enough to steal from under a dead child’s pillow!”
“I might ov took it all,—I’m that miserable. Don’t go to say I’m drunk. I’m not. What did you do with the rest of it, anyway?”
“I got Bill Churchman’s wife to buy me a white gown down the river, to put on my child, and a white sheet, and then there’s the money to fetch the preacher. I couldn’t get no sheet until I paid your reckonin’ for whisky. There ain’t much left.”
“I’m dreadful sorry,” said the man.
“Oh, don’t go a-whinin’ round me! Just let me alone! I was a fool to have took a man like you, that ain’t got no sense and no work in him!”
“I wouldn’t ov sayed that, Susie.”
“No? Well, I say it. What did that lawyer man tell you about the mortgage? When has we got to go?”
“Oh, he says we may bide till next winter; but he’s to have the cow and the pig.”