“Don’ you worry. We’re doin’ somepin’, on’y we ain’t stickin’ our necks out. A kid starves quick. Two-three days for a kid.” He went back to his job, spread the compound on a valve seat, and his hand jerked rapidly back and forth on the brace, and his face was dull and dumb.
Tom strolled slowly back to his camp. “Bull-simple,” he said under his breath.
Pa and Uncle John came toward the camp, their arms loaded with dry willow sticks, and they threw them down by the fire and squatted on their hams. “Got her picked over pretty good,” said Pa. “Had ta go a long ways for wood.” He looked up at the circle of staring children. “Lord God Almighty!” he said. “Where’d you come from?” All of the children looked self-consciously at their feet.
“Guess they smelled the cookin’,” said Ma. “Winfiel’, get out from under foot.” She pushed him out of her way. “Got ta make us up a little stew,” she said. “We ain’t et nothin’ cooked right sence we come from home. Pa, you go up to the store there an’ get some neck meat. Make a nice stew here.” Pa stood up and sauntered away.
Al had the hood of the car up, and he looked down at the greasy engine. He looked up when Tom approached. “You sure look happy as a buzzard,” Al said.
“I’m jus’ gay as a toad in spring rain,” said Tom.
“Looka the engine,” Al pointed. “Purty good, huh?”
Tom peered in. “Looks awright to me.”
“Awright? Jesus, she’s wonderful. She ain’t shot no oil nor nothin’.” He unscrewed a spark plug and stuck his forefinger in the hole. “Crusted up some, but she’s dry.”
Tom said, “You done a nice job a pickin’. That what ya want me to say?”