“Jus’ you sit quiet,” she said. “We got to take the bigges’ thing an’ whup it fust. An’ you know what that thing is.”
Tom asked, “Is it about me?”
“We’ll talk when we’ve et,” said Ma. “Al, we got enough gas to go a ways, ain’t we?”
“’Bout a quarter tank,” said Al.
“I wisht you’d tell me,” Tom said.
“After. Jus’ wait.”
“Keep-a-stirrin’ that mush, you. Here, lemme put on some coffee. You can have sugar on your mush or in your coffee. They ain’t enough for both.”
Pa came back with one tall can of milk. “’Leven cents,” he said disgustedly.
“Here!” Ma took the can and stabbed it open. She let the thick stream out into a cup, and handed it to Tom. “Give that to Winfiel’.” Tom knelt beside the mattress. “Here, drink this.”
“I can’t. I’d sick it all up. Leave me be.” Tom stood up. “He can’t take it now, Ma. Wait a little.” Ma took the cup and set it on the window ledge. “Don’t none of you touch that,” she warned. “That’s for Winfiel’.”