"I'm William Hagle," I said. "I want to help you."
"Mr. Hagle, whatever it is--insurance--"
"That's not it exactly," I told her. "I just want to help you. I only
want to do whatever you want me to do."
She stared at me, her eyes moving too quickly over my face. "I've never
even seen you before, have I? Why do you want to help me? How?"
"What's so damned hard to understand? I just want to help. I don't have
any money, but I can work and give you my pay. You want me to clean up
the basement, the yard? Got any painting to be done? Hell, I can even
sew. Anything--don't you understand--I'll do _anything_ for you."
* * * * *
The girl was breathing too hard now. "Mr. Hagle, if you're hungry, I
can find something--no, I don't think there is anything. But I can give
you some money to--"
"Damn it, I don't want your money! Here, I'll give you mine!" I wadded
up the $6.38 cents I had left, plus one bus transfer, and put it on
the top of a little bookcase next to the door. "I know it doesn't mean
anything to you, but it's every penny I've got. Can't I do anything for
you? Empty the garbage--"
"We have a disposal," she said automatically.
"Scrub the floors."
"There's a polisher in the closet."
"Make the beds!" I yelled. "You don't have a machine for _that_, do
you?"
The corners of Miss Tompkins' eyes drew up and the corners of her
mouth drew down. She stayed like that for a full second, then smiled
a strange smile. "You--you saw me on the street." She was breathing
her words now, so softly that I could only just understand them. "You
thought I was--stacked."
"To tell the truth, ma'am, you aren't so--"
"Well, sit down. Don't go away. I'll just go into the next room--slip
into something comfortable--"
"Miss Tompkins!" I grabbed hold of her. She felt real. I hoped she was.
"I want nothing from you. Nothing! I only want to do something for you,
anything for you. I've got to help you, can't you understand? I KILLED
YOUR FATHER."