A strong broad woman walked near. Her dress was streaked with dust and splotched with car oil. Her chin was held high with pride. She stood a short distance away and regarded Ma belligerently. At last she approached. “Afternoon,” she said coldly.
“Afternoon,” said Ma, and she got up from her knees and pushed a box forward. “Won’t you set down?”
The woman walked near. “No, I won’t set down.”
Ma looked questioningly at her. “Can I he’p you in any way?”
The woman set her hands on her hips. “You kin he’p me by mindin’ your own children an’ lettin’ mine alone.”
Ma’s eyes opened wide. “I ain’t done nothin’—” she began.
The woman scowled at her. “My little fella come back smellin’ of stew. You give it to ’im. He tol’ me. Don’ you go a-boastin’ an’ a-braggin’ ’bout havin’ stew. Don’ you do it. I got ’nuf troubles ’thout that. Come in ta me, he did, an’ says, ’Whyn’t we have stew?’” Her voice shook with fury.
Ma moved close. “Set down,” she said. “Set down an’ talk a piece.”
“No, I ain’t gonna set down. I’m tryin’ to feed my folks, an’ you come along with your stew.”
“Set down,” Ma said. “That was ’bout the las’ stew we’re gonna have till we get work. S’pose you was cookin’ a stew an’ a bunch of little fellas stood aroun’ moonin’, what’d you do? We didn’t have enough, but you can’t keep it when they look at ya like that.”