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 of the little money that I've got from your father to do it on."

The hollows in Michael Flynn's face deepened.

"Let's not get on to that subject again, Annie. You know how you get sick every time you work yourself up to it."

"Oh, hell! I don't blame Nettie for cussin' around this joint. It's nothin' but a free-for-all every time the family gets together." Pete swung out his fist to emphasize his remark. It struck the chair and sent it crashing into the corner.

"Sic 'em, Fido!" laughed Minnie. "All we need is a parrot squawkin' and a jazz band record on the phonograph. Maybe when Jimmy comes in he'll step on the cat's tail. Jimmy's the only one in the family that don't do his share o' the battlin', thank God."

"Aw, shut up—can't you see I'm tryin' to read the paper?"

"Shut up yourself, you big loafer!" Minnie was now quivering with rage. "Always stickin' up for Nettie against Jimmy and me, ain't you? You make me sick, and I ain't afraid to tell it to you, either. You're a bum, that's all you are, just a bum!"

A shrill cry from Mrs. Flynn.

"Shame on you, Minnie—after what you promised me," Mrs. Flynn wailed.

Pete flung the paper aside, and rose threateningly. "So she promised you, did she? So you've been talkin' about me behind my back, have you? I might of known it! A bum and a loafer! I'll fix you for that! You'll see! I'll fix you!"

Michael Flynn stepped between his son and his wife. "For God's sake, Pete, not another word out o' you. You can't talk to your mother like that."

"Well, Minnie started it," Pete answered resentfully.

Nettie staggered to her feet and slung the crazy quilt coverlet to the floor. "Minnie always does," she cried. "Every