“Got one camp. How many of you?”
Tom counted on his fingers. “Me an’ Pa an’ Ma, Al an’ Rosasharn an’ Uncle John an’ Ruthie an’ Winfiel’. Them last is kids.”
“Well, I guess we can fix you. Got any camping stuff?”
“Got a big tarp an’ beds.”
The watchman stepped up on the running board. “Drive down the end of that line an’ turn right. You’ll be in Number Four Sanitary Unit.”
“What’s that?”
“Toilets and showers and wash tubs.”
Ma demanded, “You got wash tubs—running water?”
“Sure.”
“Oh! Praise God,” said Ma.