know
how, but the fat prick will get his damn rent.
There
wasn't much Clay could do but gripe, because he sure wouldn't evict his wife's
sister and her kids. If he was mean enough to kick them out, the house
would likely stand empty for months. Who else could afford to rent the place
with the economy as bad as it was? Everyone was in the same situation, except
for people like Clay Huff and LaDaisy's mama, Vera Baker. His mother-in-law was
married to Clay's uncle, Rufus Baker, who owned the local haberdashery. They
lived in a big, fancy house on North Liberty Street, much nicer than anything
Daniel could afford. Rufus was a decent sort, but his nephew was a smart-assed
troublemaker.
Daniel
closed his eyes. If only the fool wasn't both his landlord and his
brother-in-law. It was partly because of him that he'd left LaDaisy and the
kids to shift for themselves. He'd come to the end of his rope looking for work
that didn't exist, and Clay didn't leave a man with any pride when he hounded
him for money at every turn. By the time he got home again, he'd probably owe
the bastard three-hundred dollars in back rent.
George
interrupted his thoughts. "Wonder how your little wife's making out. Maybe
having a hard time."
"She's
got more sense than her no-good husband. She'll make it."
They
lapsed into silence for a few minutes.
"I
been lying to myself, too," George said. "There ain't nobody to go
home to, but I'm going anyhow."
Daylight
was filling the boxcar now. Distractedly, Daniel emptied his gunnysack and checked
his belongings: extra clothes, rain slicker, cooking utensils, small
carbon-encrusted skillet wrapped in a yellowed Kansas City Times . Sliver
of soap, shaving cup and brush. Jackknife that doubled as a razor.
Several
weeks had passed since he'd shaved, but he was in no hurry to scrape off the
coarse beard and leave his skin raw. Besides, if he looked better than the
other hobos, they wouldn't let him within a mile of their camps.
George
started rambling again. "They don't need men to work anymore. The only
ones got work are preachers and undertakers."
Daniel
placed the gunnysack next to his tools.
"That's
the truth."
"And
the rich don't care, so long's they have plenty." George plinked a banjo
string for emphasis. "Why does everything have value 'cept humans?"
"Humans
are valuable to God."
"Why?"
"Don't
ask me. I guess He made them for a reason."
"So
we can find out what it's like to starve to death?"
"Politicians
did that."
"Well,
you're right. It's the same old bunkum coming down every depression. They're
gonna help us but they can't."
Every
tramp Daniel had talked to for the past year had said the same thing: Got no money,
no home. I'm down and out, and the only good thing is, there's not much further
down I can go.
"I
been fighting one damn thing after another all my life," George said.
"Worked many days when I couldn't even stand up. Now I'm just too tired to
put up with myself anymore. Know what I mean?"
"Yep,
I sure do."
Suddenly
Daniel's heart chilled. George is going home to die.
A
deep sadness came over Daniel as he eyed George's banjo.
"Got
me a 'tater-bug' mandolin back home. My gramps gave it to me when I was
fourteen, and my brother a banjo."
"You
shoulda brung it. Me and ol' Betsy here couldn't be split up for love or money.
Right, Bets?" George patted the banjo affectionately. "Better'n a
wife any day."
"Sometimes
a wife comes in handy for things a banjo can't do!"
"You
just gotta be a smart aleck, don'tcha?"
"Don't
I have me enough load without a musical instrument?" Daniel laughed.
"I ain't a dadgum mule."
"I
reckon."
"But
I sure do miss the mandolin. Learned to play both instruments. Used to swipe
the banjo when my brother wasn't around." He paused. "How's about
playing me a little tune before we get to your jumping-off place?"
George
adjusted the head of the banjo in his lap. He plunked and plinked a couple of
strings, twisted their tuning pegs. When he thought he had it
how, but the fat prick will get his damn rent.
There
wasn't much Clay could do but gripe, because he sure wouldn't evict his wife's
sister and her kids. If he was mean enough to kick them out, the house
would likely stand empty for months. Who else could afford to rent the place
with the economy as bad as it was? Everyone was in the same situation, except
for people like Clay Huff and LaDaisy's mama, Vera Baker. His mother-in-law was
married to Clay's uncle, Rufus Baker, who owned the local haberdashery. They
lived in a big, fancy house on North Liberty Street, much nicer than anything
Daniel could afford. Rufus was a decent sort, but his nephew was a smart-assed
troublemaker.
Daniel
closed his eyes. If only the fool wasn't both his landlord and his
brother-in-law. It was partly because of him that he'd left LaDaisy and the
kids to shift for themselves. He'd come to the end of his rope looking for work
that didn't exist, and Clay didn't leave a man with any pride when he hounded
him for money at every turn. By the time he got home again, he'd probably owe
the bastard three-hundred dollars in back rent.
George
interrupted his thoughts. "Wonder how your little wife's making out. Maybe
having a hard time."
"She's
got more sense than her no-good husband. She'll make it."
They
lapsed into silence for a few minutes.
"I
been lying to myself, too," George said. "There ain't nobody to go
home to, but I'm going anyhow."
Daylight
was filling the boxcar now. Distractedly, Daniel emptied his gunnysack and checked
his belongings: extra clothes, rain slicker, cooking utensils, small
carbon-encrusted skillet wrapped in a yellowed Kansas City Times . Sliver
of soap, shaving cup and brush. Jackknife that doubled as a razor.
Several
weeks had passed since he'd shaved, but he was in no hurry to scrape off the
coarse beard and leave his skin raw. Besides, if he looked better than the
other hobos, they wouldn't let him within a mile of their camps.
George
started rambling again. "They don't need men to work anymore. The only
ones got work are preachers and undertakers."
Daniel
placed the gunnysack next to his tools.
"That's
the truth."
"And
the rich don't care, so long's they have plenty." George plinked a banjo
string for emphasis. "Why does everything have value 'cept humans?"
"Humans
are valuable to God."
"Why?"
"Don't
ask me. I guess He made them for a reason."
"So
we can find out what it's like to starve to death?"
"Politicians
did that."
"Well,
you're right. It's the same old bunkum coming down every depression. They're
gonna help us but they can't."
Every
tramp Daniel had talked to for the past year had said the same thing: Got no money,
no home. I'm down and out, and the only good thing is, there's not much further
down I can go.
"I
been fighting one damn thing after another all my life," George said.
"Worked many days when I couldn't even stand up. Now I'm just too tired to
put up with myself anymore. Know what I mean?"
"Yep,
I sure do."
Suddenly
Daniel's heart chilled. George is going home to die.
A
deep sadness came over Daniel as he eyed George's banjo.
"Got
me a 'tater-bug' mandolin back home. My gramps gave it to me when I was
fourteen, and my brother a banjo."
"You
shoulda brung it. Me and ol' Betsy here couldn't be split up for love or money.
Right, Bets?" George patted the banjo affectionately. "Better'n a
wife any day."
"Sometimes
a wife comes in handy for things a banjo can't do!"
"You
just gotta be a smart aleck, don'tcha?"
"Don't
I have me enough load without a musical instrument?" Daniel laughed.
"I ain't a dadgum mule."
"I
reckon."
"But
I sure do miss the mandolin. Learned to play both instruments. Used to swipe
the banjo when my brother wasn't around." He paused. "How's about
playing me a little tune before we get to your jumping-off place?"
George
adjusted the head of the banjo in his lap. He plunked and plinked a couple of
strings, twisted their tuning pegs. When he thought he had it
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