“Oh, Izzy—­Izzy—­Izzy!”

“I kept losing, Renie; but I knew, if my luck just changed from that unlucky Friday night, I could pay it back like the first time.  All I needed was a little time and a little luck and I could pay it back like the first hundred; so I kept fixing my books, Renie, and—­and borrowing more—­and more.”

“How much?”

“O God, Renie!  I could have paid it back with time; I—­”

“’Sh-h-h!  How much, Izzy—­how much?”

“Somebody must have snitched on me, how I was losing every night.  The old skinflint, he—­Oh, my God!  They got me, Renie—­they got me; and it’ll kill the old man!”

“How much, Izzy—­how much?”

“Oh, my God!  I could have paid it back if—­if—­”

“How much?  Tell me, I say!”

“Four—­thousand!”

“Oh-h-h, Izzy—­Izzy—­Izzy!” She sprang back from him, blind with scalding tears.  “Izzy!  Four thousand!  Oh, my God!  Four thousand!”

“I could have paid it back, Renie; the system was all right, but—­”

“Four thousand!  Four thousand!”

“He—­he was all for detaining me right away, Renie; sending for pa, and—­and sicking the law right on his—­his own sister’s son.  On my knees for three hours I had to beg, Renie—­on my knees, for ma’s sake and your sake and pa’s—­just for a little time I begged.  A little time was all I begged.  He don’t care nothing for blood.  I—­I had to beg him, Renie, till—­till I fainted.”

“What shall we do, Izzy?  What shall we do?”

“I squeezed two weeks’ time out of him, Renie.  Two weeks to pay it back or he puts the law on me—­two weeks; and I got it from him like blood from a turnip.  Oh, my God, Renie, four thousand in two weeks—­four thousand in two weeks!”

He fell in a half-swoon against her skirts.  Out of her arms she made a pillow of mercy and drew his head down to her bosom; and tears, bitter with salt, mingled with his, and her heart’s blood buzzed in her brain.

“Izzy, Izzy!  What have you done?”

“I can’t pay it back, Renie.  Where could I get half that much?  I can’t pay back four dollars, much less four thousand.  I can’t!  I can’t!”

“Four thousand!”

“We gotta keep it from the old man and ma, Renie.  Let ’em kill me if they want to; but we gotta keep it from him and ma.”

“Four thousand!  Four thousand!”

In the half-light of the room, with the late sunshine pressing warm against the drawn green shades, the remote shouts of children coming to them through the quiet, and the whir of a lawn-mower off somewhere, they crouched, these two, as though they would shut their ears to the flapping of vultures’ wings.

“They can’t do anything to you, Izzy.”

“What’ll we do, Renie?  What’ll we do?”

“We got to find a way, Izzy.”

“They can’t send me up for it, Renie—­say they can’t!”

“No—­no, dearie.”