Tom went on, “You got to stay, Al. You got to take care a the truck.”
“Well, I don’ like it.”
“Can’t help it, Al. It’s your folks. You can help ’em. I’m a danger to ’em.” Al grumbled angrily. “I don’ know why I ain’t let to get me a job in a garage.”
“Later, maybe.” Tom looked past him, and he saw Rose of Sharon lying on the mattress. Her eyes were huge—opened wide. “Don’t worry,” he called to her. “Don’t you worry. Gonna get you some milk today.” She blinked slowly, and didn’t answer him.
Pa said, “We got to know, Tom. Think ya killed this fella?”
“I don’ know. It was dark. An’ somebody smacked me. I don’ know. I hope so. I hope I killed the bastard.”
“Tom!” Ma called. “Don’ talk like that.”
From the street came the sound of many cars moving slowly. Pa stepped to the window and looked out. “They’s a whole slew a new people comin’ in,” he said.
“I guess they bust the strike awright,” said Tom. “I guess you’ll start at two an’ a half cents.”
“But a fella could work at a run, an’ still he couldn’ eat.”