Free Oil (filmed as There Will Be Blood) by Upton Sinclair

pretty room!" he exclaimed— which was true enough, because it was all enameled white paint. "Yes, it is nice, I'm glad you think so," said the mistress of it, as she took a glass from the shelf and set the faucet to running. "A real big kitchen," said Bunny; "that's always a comfort." He took the glass of water with thanks, and drank part of it. So polite and natural! thought Mrs. Groarty. Not a bit stuck up! And Bunny went to the back door. "I suppose you've got a big screen porch here. Kind of hot indoors, don't you think?" He unlocked the door, and opened it, and looked out. "The breeze feels good," he said. "And you can see all the wells from here. Won't it be fun when they get to drilling right on this block!" What a friendly little fellow! Mrs. Groarty was thinking; and she said yes, and it would be soon, she hoped. Bunny said that perhaps she'd catch cold, with that lovely evening dress she had on; so he shut the door again; and his hostess was so charmed by the agreeable manners of the aristocracy that she failed to notice that he did not lock the door. He put the empty glass on the drain-board of the sink, and said no thanks, he didn't wish any more, and followed Mrs. Groarty back to the crowded living-room. "What I say is this—" it was the voice of Mr. Sahm, the plasterer. "If you really want to sign the lease as it was, sign it as we all understood it; let's figure the land we own, and not the street we don't own." "In other words," said Mrs. Walter Black, sarcastically, "let's change the lease." "In other words," said Miss Snypp, even more sarcastically, "let's not fall into the trap you big lots set for us."
    VIII
    It was to be expected that a thirteen-year old boy would grow weary of such a wrangle; so no one paid the least attention when J. Arnold Ross, junior, made his way to the front door and went out. He reached the back door just as Paul Watkins was closing it softly behind him. "Thanks, kid," whispered the latter, and stole away to the wood-shed, with Bunny close behind him. Paul's first sentence was: "I got a piece of ham and two slices of bread, and one piece of pie." He already had his mouth full. "That's all right, I guess," said Bunny, judiciously. He waited, and for a while there was no sound, save that of a hungry creature chewing. The stranger was only a shadow with a voice; but outside, in the starlight, Bunny had noted that the shadow was a head taller than himself, and thin. "Gee, it's tough to be starvin'!" said the voice, at last. "Do you want any of this?" "Oh no, I had my supper," said Bunny. "And I'm not supposed to eat at night." The other went on chewing, and Bunny found it mysterious and romantic; it might have been a hungry wolf there in the darkness! They sat on boxes, and when the sounds of eating ceased, Bunny said: "What made you run away from home?" The other answered with another question, a puzzling one: "What church do you belong to?" "How do you mean?" countered Bunny. "Don't you know what it means to belong to a church?" "Well, my grandmother takes me to a Baptist church sometimes, and my mother takes me to a 'Piscopal one when I'm visiting her. But I don't know as I belong to any." "My Gosh!" said Paul. It was evident he was deeply impressed by this statement. "You mean your father don't make you belong to no church?" "I don't think Dad believes in things like that very much." "My Gosh! And you ain't scared?" "Scared of what?" "Why, hell fire and brimstone. Of losin' your soul." "No, I never thought about it." "Say, kid, you dunno how queer that hits me. I just been makin' up my mind to go to hell, and not give a damn. Do you cuss?" "Not very often." "Well, I cussed God." "How do you do that?" "Why, I said, 'Damn God!' I said it half a dozen times, see, and I thought sure the lightnin' would come down and strike me. I said: I don't believe, and I ain't a-goin' to believe, and I don't give a damn." "Well, but if you don't believe, why should you be scared?" Bunny's mind