Ma looked down at her dirty dress. “We ain’t clean yet,” she said. “You jus’ can’t keep clean a-travelin’.”
“Don’t I know it,” he said. He sniffed the air. “Say—is that your coffee smells so good?”
Ma smiled. “Does smell nice, don’t it? Outside it always smells nice.” And she said proudly, “We’d take it in honor ’f you’d have some breakfus’ with us.”
He came to the fire and squatted on his hams, and the last of Ma’s resistance went down. “We’d be proud to have ya,” she said. “We ain’t got much that’s nice, but you’re welcome.”
The little man grinned at her. “I had my breakfast. But I’d sure like a cup of that coffee. Smells so good.”
“Why—why, sure.”
“Don’t hurry yourself.”
Ma poured a tin cup of coffee from the gallon can. She said, “We ain’t got sugar yet. Maybe we’ll get some today. If you need sugar, it won’t taste good.”
“Never use sugar,” he said. “Spoils the taste of good coffee.”
“Well, I like a little sugar,” said Ma. She looked at him suddenly and closely, to see how he had come so close so quickly. She looked for motive on his face, and found nothing but friendliness. Then she looked at the frayed seams on his white coat, and she was reassured.
He sipped the coffee. “I guess the ladies’ll be here to see you this morning.”
“We ain’t clean,” Ma said. “They shouldn’t be comin’ till we get cleaned up a little.”
“But they know how it is,” the manager said. “They came in the same way. No, sir. The committees are good in this camp because they do know.” He finished his coffee and stood up. “Well, I got to go on. Anything you want, why, come over to the office. I’m there all the time. Grand coffee. Thank you.” He put the cup on the box with the others, waved his hand, and walked down the line of tents. And Ma heard him speaking to the people as he went.
Ma put down her head and she fought with a desire to cry.
Pa came back leading the children, their eyes still wet with pain at the ear-scrounging. They were subdued and shining. The sunburned skin on Winfield’s nose was scrubbed off. “There,” Pa said. “Got dirt an’ two layers a skin. Had to almost lick ’em to make ’em stan’ still.”
Ma appraised them. “They look nice,” she said. “He’p yaself to pone an’ gravy. We got to get stuff outa the way an’ the tent in order.”
Pa served plates for the children and for himself. “Wonder where Tom got work?”
“I dunno.”
“Well, if he can, we can.”
Al came excitedly to the tent. “What a place!” he said. He helped himself and poured coffee. “Know what a fella’s doin’? He’s buildin’ a house trailer. Right over there, back a them tents. Got beds an’ a stove—ever’thing. Jus’ live in her. By God, that’s the way to live! Right where you stop—tha’s where you live.”
Ma said, “I ruther have a little house. Soon’s we can, I want a little house.”
Pa said, “Al—after we’ve et, you an’ me an’ Uncle John’ll take the truck an’ go out lookin’ for work.”
“Sure,” said Al. “I like to get a job in a garage if they’s any jobs. Tha’s what I really like. An’ get me a little ol’ cut-down Ford. Paint her yella an’ go a-kyoodlin’ aroun’. Seen a purty girl down the road. Give her a big wink, too. Purty as hell, too.”
Pa said sternly, “You better get you some work ’fore you go a-tom-cattin’.”
Uncle John came out of the toilet and moved slowly near. Ma frowned at him.
“You ain’t washed—” she began, and then she saw how sick and weak and sad he looked. “You go on in the tent an’ lay down,” she said. “You ain’t well.”
He shook his head. “No,” he said. “I sinned, an’ I got to take my punishment.” He squatted down disconsolately and poured himself a cup of coffee.
Ma took the last pones from the pan. She said casually, “The manager of the camp come an’ set an’ had a cup a coffee.”
Pa looked over slowly. “Yeah? What’s he want awready?”
“Jus’ come to pass the time,” Ma said daintily. “Jus’ set down an’ had coffee. Said he didn’ get good coffee so often, an’ smelt our’n.”
“What’d he want?” Pa demanded again.