VIII“Of course, Daddy’s different,” Ginny said. “He doesn’t hate Mr. Brent, personal-wise, like Ham Vair does. There’s a lot of things Daddy has to do, political-wise, but he wouldn’t do anything mean. Daddy says what’s the use of doing things that keep you awake at nights and don’t pay off in the day-time to make up for it? That’s Daddy. Things have to pay off or he won’t touch them.”
It seemed . . . practical, I suppose. I didn’t know, but I was getting surer Daddy would always know what he was talking about.
“But . . . I don’t know,” his daughter said. “Money comes where money is, that’s what Daddy always says, and this job somebody’s offered me pays a lots of money.”
I looked at her. “What job, Ginny? Who’s offered it to you?”
“Oh, it’s just a silly old job. Some friends of mine th
