Wouldn’ be long ’fore the price went up, by God!”
The young man looked up from the valves, looked sardonically at Tom.
“Well, you figgered out somepin, didn’ you. Come right outa your own head.”
“I’m tar’d,” said Tom. “Drove all night. I don’t wanta start no argument. An’ I’m so goddamn tar’d I’d argue easy. Don’t be smart with me. I’m askin’ you.”
The young man grinned. “I didn’ mean it. You ain’t been here. Folks figgered that out. An’ the folks with the peach orchard figgered her out too. Look, if the folks gets together, they’s a leader—got to be—fella that does the talkin’. Well, first time this fella opens his mouth they grab ’im an’ stick ’im in jail. An’ if they’s another leader pops up, why, they stick ’im in jail.”
Tom said, “Well, a fella eats in jail anyways.”
“His kids don’t. How’d you like to be in an’ your kids starvin’ to death?”
“Yeah,” said Tom slowly. “Yeah.”
“An’ here’s another thing. Ever hear a’ the blacklist?”
“What’s that?”