Next day when the men and Dick were hired to pick grapefruit,
Grandpa asked the boss about better living quarters.

"He said there wasn't any," Grandpa reported later.

"My land of love, you mean we've got to stay here?" Grandma
groaned.

Grimly she set to work. The Italian neighbor had brought her a
pot of stew and some coffee, but now Grandma and Rose-Ellen must
go to the store for provisions. They brushed their clothes, all
wrinkles from the long trip, and demanding the iron Grandma did
not have. They combed their hair and washed. They set out,
leaving the baby with Jimmie.

"Shall I send these?" the grocer asked respectfully, when they
had given their order. "You're new here, aren't you?" Mussed as
they were, the Beechams still looked respectable.

Grandma flushed. She hated to have anyone see that flapping
canvas room, but the heap of supplies was heavy. "Please. We're
working in the grapefruit," she said.

The grocer's face lost its smile. "Oh, we don't deliver to the
camps," he snapped. "And it's strictly cash."

Grandma handed him the coins, and she and Rose-Ellen silently
piled their purchases into the tub they had bought. They had to
set it down many times on their way back.