“I’ll stay,” said Casy.
“An’ tomorra we’ll go out in the truck an’ look for work.”
“Yeah!” said Casy, and he waved his toes up and down and studied them gravely. Tom settled back on his elbow and closed his eyes. Inside the tent he could hear the murmur of Rose of Sharon’s voice and Connie’s answering.
The tarpaulin made a dark shadow and the wedge-shaped light at each end was hard and sharp. Rose of Sharon lay on a mattress and Connie squatted beside her. “I oughta help Ma,” Rose of Sharon said. “I tried, but ever’ time I stirred about I throwed up.”
Connie’s eyes were sullen. “If I’d of knowed it would be like this I wouldn’ of came. I’d a studied nights ’bout tractors back home an’ got me a three-dollar job. Fella can live awful nice on three dollars a day, an’ go to the pitcher show ever’ night, too.”
Rose of Sharon looked apprehensive. “You’re gonna study nights ’bout radios,” she said. He was long in answering. “Ain’t you?” she demanded.
“Yeah, sure. Soon’s I get on my feet. Get a little money.” She rolled up on her elbow. “You ain’t givin’ it up!”
“No—no—’course not. But—I didn’ know they was places like this we got to live in.”
The girl’s eyes hardened. “You got to,” she said quietly.
“Sure. Sure, I know. Got to get on my feet. Get a little money. Would a been better maybe to stay home an’ study ’bout tractors. Three dollars a day they get, an’ pick up extra money, too.” Rose of Sharon’s eyes were calculating. When he looked down at her he saw in her eyes a measuring of him, a calculation of him. “But I’m gonna study,” he said. “Soon’s I get on my feet.”