Whatever Pee-Wee did must be right and she saw now that two
hundred and fifty dollars won in the twinkling of an eye was better
than life spent in the retail trade. Yet she could not help thinking
wistfully and fondly of their little enterprise and its cosy
headquarters.
They sat on a rock by the roadside waiting for the mailman's auto
to come along. Once in that Pepsy felt that her fate would be sealed.
She had never been away from Everdoze since she had first been taken
there. Baxter City was a vast place which she had seen in her dreams,
a place where people were arrested and run over and where the
constables were dressed up like soldiers. She clung tight to
Pee-Wee's hand.
"I hate him, too," she said, referring to Beriah Bungel, "and it
will serve him right if Whitie dies and I just hope he does, because
his father hit you."
"Who's Whitie?" Pee-Wee asked.
"He's Mr. Bungel's little boy and he's all white because he's sick,
and they can't take him to a great big place in the city so they can
make him all well again and it just serves him right and I'm glad they
haven't got any money. Everybody says he's going to die and Licorice
Stick knows he's going to die in a rainstorm on a Friday, that's what
he said.
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