prancing horse that the branches made. John slipped out of bed again and crept to the window. He pressed his nose to the icy pane and stared across the deserted snowy yard to the place where the single yellow flame bloomed in the glass box like a golden fish in a bowl of light. Then he saw the man by the roadside. The man stood in silence, motionless, staring speculatively toward the house like a traveler seeking a night’s lodging.
Go away, man! whispered John, his flesh gathering for a paroxysm of trembling.
Off down the river the eleven-o’clock train of the Ohio River Division of the Baltimore and Ohio screamed twice and hurried off panting among the bottom farms. There was no regular depot at Cresap’s Landing and often the late train from Moundsville stopped at the crossroads to let off travelers or drummers to make their way as best they could the half mile into Cresap’s Landing and a room at Mamie Ernest’s boardinghouse.
I ain’t scared! I ain’t scared! whispered John and saw after a moment that his dread had been unnecessary. It was really a most plain-looking man. He stood shivering for a moment longer in his cheap gray suit and his old gray hat and even as John watched he moved back into the shadows again and off up the road to Cresap’s Landing. Now the old winter branches made the dancing horse again on the golden square and the clown with toothpick legs frolicked on the mad wind. John crept back into the bed and huddling close to the warm body of Pearl thought carefully to himself: Just a little gray man in a little gray suit and a little gray hat and he’s gone. A pleasant man, too, one would guess. For even now as he wandered up the road for Mamie Ernest’s he was lifting his high, clear tenor to the cold night and singing a sweet old gospel tune.
—
Willa said he was a dirty old man and used to forbid John to go there. But to the boy the old wharfboat at the landing seemed the most perfect kind of home. It wallowed against the lapping slope of the shore—a crumbling houseboat scarcely better than the cheap floating shacks of the shantyboat trash down the shore under the willows at the edge of Jason Lindsay’s meadow. Willa had taken Pearl to work with her that morning and John had a few hours to spend as he chose. Uncle Birdie was just having morning coffee. When the old man spied John standing timidly on the bricks by the narrow gangplank he threw up his knotted hands and ran to the door.
Bless my soul if it hain’t Ben Harper’s boy John! Hop up, boy!
John smiled, and Uncle Birdie motioned him up the plank.
Come on in, boy, and have a good hot cup of coffee with me. Does your maw let you?
John’s eyes fell.
By damn, it don’t matter if she does or don’t! We’ll have ourselves a cup anyways. I say a feller ain’t worth a hoot without his morning coffee. Hurry up, there, boy, and shut that door! It’s cold enough to freeze the horns off a muley cow!
John crept into the narrow little cabin and sat on a salt box by the stove.
Now! cried the old man, fetching the coffeepot and pouring John’s cup full. How you been? ’Deed, I hain’t seen you for a coon’s age, Johnny!
I been mindin’ Pearl, said John.
Birdie cracked his old fist in his leathery palm.
Pshaw, now! Hain’t it a caution what women will load onto a feller’s shoulders when he ain’t lookin’! Mindin’ girls! Shoot! That hain’t no job for a big feller like you!
Oh! said John promptly. I don’t mind, Uncle Birdie. Pearl needs someone to mind her.
Well, now, yes, I reckon that’s so. I reckon with your pap gone—that sorty makes you the man of the house, so to speak! ’Scuse me, Cap, while I sweeten up my coffee a little. A man of my years needs a little snort to get his boiler heated of a mornin’.
John watched as the old man reached under the bursting leather rocker in which he sat and fetching up a pint bottle of crystal liquid splashed generously into his coffee. He sipped it, sucked his
Go away, man! whispered John, his flesh gathering for a paroxysm of trembling.
Off down the river the eleven-o’clock train of the Ohio River Division of the Baltimore and Ohio screamed twice and hurried off panting among the bottom farms. There was no regular depot at Cresap’s Landing and often the late train from Moundsville stopped at the crossroads to let off travelers or drummers to make their way as best they could the half mile into Cresap’s Landing and a room at Mamie Ernest’s boardinghouse.
I ain’t scared! I ain’t scared! whispered John and saw after a moment that his dread had been unnecessary. It was really a most plain-looking man. He stood shivering for a moment longer in his cheap gray suit and his old gray hat and even as John watched he moved back into the shadows again and off up the road to Cresap’s Landing. Now the old winter branches made the dancing horse again on the golden square and the clown with toothpick legs frolicked on the mad wind. John crept back into the bed and huddling close to the warm body of Pearl thought carefully to himself: Just a little gray man in a little gray suit and a little gray hat and he’s gone. A pleasant man, too, one would guess. For even now as he wandered up the road for Mamie Ernest’s he was lifting his high, clear tenor to the cold night and singing a sweet old gospel tune.
—
Willa said he was a dirty old man and used to forbid John to go there. But to the boy the old wharfboat at the landing seemed the most perfect kind of home. It wallowed against the lapping slope of the shore—a crumbling houseboat scarcely better than the cheap floating shacks of the shantyboat trash down the shore under the willows at the edge of Jason Lindsay’s meadow. Willa had taken Pearl to work with her that morning and John had a few hours to spend as he chose. Uncle Birdie was just having morning coffee. When the old man spied John standing timidly on the bricks by the narrow gangplank he threw up his knotted hands and ran to the door.
Bless my soul if it hain’t Ben Harper’s boy John! Hop up, boy!
John smiled, and Uncle Birdie motioned him up the plank.
Come on in, boy, and have a good hot cup of coffee with me. Does your maw let you?
John’s eyes fell.
By damn, it don’t matter if she does or don’t! We’ll have ourselves a cup anyways. I say a feller ain’t worth a hoot without his morning coffee. Hurry up, there, boy, and shut that door! It’s cold enough to freeze the horns off a muley cow!
John crept into the narrow little cabin and sat on a salt box by the stove.
Now! cried the old man, fetching the coffeepot and pouring John’s cup full. How you been? ’Deed, I hain’t seen you for a coon’s age, Johnny!
I been mindin’ Pearl, said John.
Birdie cracked his old fist in his leathery palm.
Pshaw, now! Hain’t it a caution what women will load onto a feller’s shoulders when he ain’t lookin’! Mindin’ girls! Shoot! That hain’t no job for a big feller like you!
Oh! said John promptly. I don’t mind, Uncle Birdie. Pearl needs someone to mind her.
Well, now, yes, I reckon that’s so. I reckon with your pap gone—that sorty makes you the man of the house, so to speak! ’Scuse me, Cap, while I sweeten up my coffee a little. A man of my years needs a little snort to get his boiler heated of a mornin’.
John watched as the old man reached under the bursting leather rocker in which he sat and fetching up a pint bottle of crystal liquid splashed generously into his coffee. He sipped it, sucked his
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