never showed itself that afternoon, and I sat in the studio and read until six. Mrs. Fenster had sent the boy out for a slab of bacon, and when he returned with it she began cooking a portion of it up with some beans. I withdrew to the studio to resume my reading, and a few minutes later I returned to the kitchen to find Lemuel still there, to the great annoyance of his aunt.
“Says he’s hungry,” she said, as if the claim were the height of absurdity.
“Didn’t you feed him at noon?”
She drew herself up to her full five feet. “You said there was to be no luncheon.”
“Better give him some bacon and beans, then.” The boy had already taken his place at table, and after serving me my portion and filling a plate for herself Mrs. Fenster dipped her ladle into the cook pot with exaggerated reluctance and loaded a plate for him.
I wasn’t overly hungry owing to the rich meal I’d taken at midday, and Mrs. Fenster ate in her usual dainty manner, but the boy fed as though he hadn’t eaten a morsel in days. When I commented benignly on the urgency of his eating he stopped, wide-eyed, for a moment.
“Didn’t mean nothing. Sorry.” He put his fork down.
“Why’d you stop? Go on, eat. Your aunt’ll fix up some more if your belly’s as empty as that.”
After a cautious moment he decided I wasn’t japing and setabout eating again. I had the old woman fry a bit more bacon, and she added it with some more brown, crusty beans to his plate. He tore into that with the same breathtaking gusto as he had his first portion, and the gluttonous spectacle had begun to tickle me.
“Care for a third helping?”
He nodded warily, and she fried him still more bacon. There was another plate’s worth of beans in the pot, too, and he finished that off as well before letting loose with a belch that would have shocked a muleskinner. After shooting a worried glance at Mrs. Fenster he grinned sheepishly at my laughter, and nearly an hour after his usual departure time he went out the door for home. I sat up for a while, reading and ruminating on the world of separation between a resourceful farm boy like Horace Gleason, capable of replacing me completely at a technically demanding craft after but a few months training, and a dull city boy like poor Lemuel, incapable even of mustering the nerve to trouble his own aunt for a meal that he was due as a condition of his employment.
T HE NEXT MORNING was sunny, and I busied myself on the rooftop printing what I should have done the day before. At eleven o’clock I had to go downstairs and wait for Augie Baxter myself, since Lemuel hadn’t come in that morning. Though he’d never before failed to arrive on time I was moreangry than concerned, having had to perform most of the lad’s chores in addition to my own. When Augie arrived I was in an unusually foul temper; as I’d anticipated he complained bitterly at my puny order and then proceeded to criticize the one new addition to it.
“We just added them back in January. Pretty pictures, to be sure, the fellow’s got a sharp eye. There’s not much remarkable about that set, though.”
“I see there’s a view of the Bender cabin,” I said with as much casual indifference as I could manage.
“Well, a few years ago we were selling a full set of those, but they were a disappointment. Just one skeleton was all you could see, and a few pictures of buildings and a bunch of yahoos standing in front of some holes in the ground and some trees on fire. What it really needed is a view of them Benders hung from a tree, then you’d have something you could sell.”
I thought of something just then: the nude views I’d taken of Maggie, the ones I’d had to leave behind in Cottonwood. “This fellow Gleason, he doesn’t handle any views of naked ladies, does he?”
“Naw, not that I seen, anyway. I think he’s got religion. And speaking of naked ladies, you missed yourself a free roll in the hay yesternoon.” He leaned back
“Says he’s hungry,” she said, as if the claim were the height of absurdity.
“Didn’t you feed him at noon?”
She drew herself up to her full five feet. “You said there was to be no luncheon.”
“Better give him some bacon and beans, then.” The boy had already taken his place at table, and after serving me my portion and filling a plate for herself Mrs. Fenster dipped her ladle into the cook pot with exaggerated reluctance and loaded a plate for him.
I wasn’t overly hungry owing to the rich meal I’d taken at midday, and Mrs. Fenster ate in her usual dainty manner, but the boy fed as though he hadn’t eaten a morsel in days. When I commented benignly on the urgency of his eating he stopped, wide-eyed, for a moment.
“Didn’t mean nothing. Sorry.” He put his fork down.
“Why’d you stop? Go on, eat. Your aunt’ll fix up some more if your belly’s as empty as that.”
After a cautious moment he decided I wasn’t japing and setabout eating again. I had the old woman fry a bit more bacon, and she added it with some more brown, crusty beans to his plate. He tore into that with the same breathtaking gusto as he had his first portion, and the gluttonous spectacle had begun to tickle me.
“Care for a third helping?”
He nodded warily, and she fried him still more bacon. There was another plate’s worth of beans in the pot, too, and he finished that off as well before letting loose with a belch that would have shocked a muleskinner. After shooting a worried glance at Mrs. Fenster he grinned sheepishly at my laughter, and nearly an hour after his usual departure time he went out the door for home. I sat up for a while, reading and ruminating on the world of separation between a resourceful farm boy like Horace Gleason, capable of replacing me completely at a technically demanding craft after but a few months training, and a dull city boy like poor Lemuel, incapable even of mustering the nerve to trouble his own aunt for a meal that he was due as a condition of his employment.
T HE NEXT MORNING was sunny, and I busied myself on the rooftop printing what I should have done the day before. At eleven o’clock I had to go downstairs and wait for Augie Baxter myself, since Lemuel hadn’t come in that morning. Though he’d never before failed to arrive on time I was moreangry than concerned, having had to perform most of the lad’s chores in addition to my own. When Augie arrived I was in an unusually foul temper; as I’d anticipated he complained bitterly at my puny order and then proceeded to criticize the one new addition to it.
“We just added them back in January. Pretty pictures, to be sure, the fellow’s got a sharp eye. There’s not much remarkable about that set, though.”
“I see there’s a view of the Bender cabin,” I said with as much casual indifference as I could manage.
“Well, a few years ago we were selling a full set of those, but they were a disappointment. Just one skeleton was all you could see, and a few pictures of buildings and a bunch of yahoos standing in front of some holes in the ground and some trees on fire. What it really needed is a view of them Benders hung from a tree, then you’d have something you could sell.”
I thought of something just then: the nude views I’d taken of Maggie, the ones I’d had to leave behind in Cottonwood. “This fellow Gleason, he doesn’t handle any views of naked ladies, does he?”
“Naw, not that I seen, anyway. I think he’s got religion. And speaking of naked ladies, you missed yourself a free roll in the hay yesternoon.” He leaned back
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