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Show page 27 Willie Chisum and his odd coat flapped inside the unpainted stockyard office in an awkward motion the very poor had that summer when approaching anyone for money. John Greene, from x-7here he stood in a corner of cobwebs, saw the hog money passed to his father in a brown envelope and saw his father clutch it to his chest with concern. The drought and the heat, the stockyard secretary related to us, made t h i s transaction and similar transactions x?ith other drought-stricken farmers seem unreal, and made the intent of human disposition hard to measure; poverty and excessive heat seem to d i s t o r t men's minds. John Greene jumped out of his f a t h e r ' s way as they left the office. Then he was hopping and skipping again on the hot asphalt, hanging at W i l l i e ' s heels, watching his father cram the brown envelope of money deep in a coat pocket. Willie headed for our infamous gray house that s i t s behind the junkyard, Mamie, in the doorway of the gray house, said, "What you bring the boy for, Willie?" Willie turned upon his son savagely. "What you following me for, John Greene?" He struck at him. John Greene dodged the blow and tugged at his f a t h e r ' s coat. "A dime," he said; "you promised me a dime." Mamie said, "Give him a dime, Willie, if you promised, or you get nothing here." Willie xcithdrew the brown envelope in an angry, impatient motion, pinched a dime from i t and threw the coin rather than handed i t to John Greene. John Greene scooped i t up from amid dead chJJSt^SPS^mmmm^if«£ore Willie could berate him more he |