The Old Gray Wolf

The Old Gray Wolf by James D. Doss

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Authors: James D. Doss
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big-boned woman pushed the oak-wheeled chair as easily as if the conveyance were empty and the grade on the flagstone pathway dead level. The incline was, in fact, noticeably uphill and the live cargo tipped the scales at 156 pounds. “If I’ve said it once, Miz Hooten, I’ve said it a hunnerd times—you oughten to be so stingy. I swear—you could be Jack Benny’s penny-pinchin’ granmammy.”
    The invalid responded tartly, “I believe you have complained about my frugality more than fivescore times, Marcella.” The voice from under the gray headscarf was gratingly raspy, like the harsh shriek of a file being drawn across the dull teeth of a rusty cross-cut saw. “But if you don’t mind getting to the point, what is the focus of your concern upon this particular occasion?”
    â€œWell, I’ll tell you—a rich lady like yourself ought to buy herself one a them motorized chairs to wheel around in.”
    â€œI could purchase a dozen battery-operated carts, Marcella, but what can I say?” Mrs. Hooten said it: “I am incurably old-fashioned, and frugal to a fault.”
    â€œYou’re that , all right.” Her paid companion snorted. “But I still say—”
    â€œBesides, if I indulged in such conveniences as motorized wheelchairs, electric dishwashers and such, what would I need to keep you around for?”
    â€œHah! Who’d cook your meals and pick up after your messy self— and stack your dirty dishes in that fancy ’lectric dishwasher.” Marcella’s broad face flashed a dazzling smile. “And don’t go tellin’ me that you could hire somebody else to take care of you—you know well as I do that nobody around these parts’ll work for you ’cause you’re such a bad-mouthed ol’ grouch and you don’t pay enough wages to keep a mouse in cheese and crackers.”
    The maid’s employer smirked. “You certainly don’t show any visible signs of starvation.”
    â€œThat’s because I help myself to all those goodies in your pantry. This mornin’ at about two o’clock, I got up and toasted about half a loaf of white bread—and I spread fancy apple butter over ever’ slice and I et it all before I went back to bed!”
    â€œI have always suspected you of committing petty larcenies at my expense, but I do wish you had not confessed. Now I shall feel compelled to count the silverware daily.”
    â€œYou go ahead and do that—all I steal is food.”
    Mrs. Hooten smiled. Dear Marcella is so entertaining.
    The maid pushed the invalid toward a picket-fence gateway that opened into a circular garden which pressed halfway into a forest of oak and maple. Their daily little game and the pathway had about played out. “It’s cold enough out here to freeze my shadder to the ground; I don’t know why you won’t stay inside by the fireplace like a normal old crank.”
    â€œI am not an old crank. I am an aged recluse.” Francine surveyed her tiny hideaway, which was surrounded by a thick hedge. “Call me eccentric.”
    â€œI’d call you silly, ’cept you’d cut my pay to maybe one greenback dollar an hour.”
    â€œAn option that I shall consider if you do not mend your meddling ways. But enough of this silly banter; I require a few minutes’ respite from your company.” Remembering her expected guest’s instructions, Francine added, “Wheel me around to the opposite side of the fountain, Marcella, and turn the chair so that I am facing the house.”
    This order was carried out without comment.
    â€œThank you kindly. Now, you may leave me.”
    Marcella gave the disabled woman a worried look. “D’you have that little gadget with the red button?”
    â€œI do.” Mrs. Hooten pulled back her scarf to reveal the plastic pendant hanging from her neck. “When I have soaked

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