A heavy odor scented the darkness.
Grandpa said, "They can't expect decent folks . . . !"
Grandma said, "We've got to stretch out somewheres. Even under a
tree. This baby. . . ."
Sally was crying a miserable little cry, and an Italian woman who
reminded Rose-Ellen of Mrs. Albi peered out of a patched tent and
said, "Iss a _bambina_! Oooh, the little so-white _bambina_! Look
you here, quick! The people next door have leave these tent. You
move in before some other bodies."
"These tent" was a top and three walls of dirty canvas. "If
you'd told me a Beecham would lay down in a filthy place like
this. . . ." Grandma declared. Rose-Ellen did not hear the end of
the sentence. She was asleep on the earth floor.
Next day when the men and Dick were hired to pick grapefruit,
Grandpa asked the boss about better living quarters.
"He said there wasn't any," Grandpa reported later.
"My land of love, you mean we've got to stay here?" Grandma
groaned.
Grimly she set to work. The Italian neighbor had brought her a
pot of stew and some coffee, but now Grandma and Rose-Ellen must
go to the store for provisions. They brushed their clothes, all
wrinkles from the long trip, and demanding the iron Grandma did
not have. They combed their hair and washed. They set out,
leaving the baby with Jimmie.
Pages:
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51