Uncle Sagamore and His Girls Page 4

  Uncle Sagamore took out his big red handkerchief and blew his nose. “Just ain’t nothin’ a man can say.”

  Curley straightened up and slapped the hood with his hand. He squared his shoulders. “Well, there’s no use broodin’ about it. I reckon we all got to go sometime. Now, let’s see. That’ll be three dollars for the gas. Guess there wasn’t anything else, was there, men?”

  Uncle Sagamore took a ten dollar bill out of his purse and handed it to him. Then he looked down, shuffling his feet. “Uh—them recapped tahrs you mentioned. What you figger you could let ’em go for?”

  Curly had started into the office, but he stopped. “What’s that? Oh, those tires?” He studied about it. “Why, let’s see—Ordinarily, they sell for twenty dollars apiece. But since they was ordered for Jack—and, well, I wouldn’t even dream of wanting to make any profit on a thing like that, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You can have ’em both for thirty-five dollars.”

  “Well sir, that’s real nice of you,” Uncle Sagamore says. “Howsoever, though, you name yourself a fair price. I ain’t never been one to take advantage of a man’s grief—”

  “Well, now,” Pop says, “the least I can do is get the gas. You let me.” He grabbed the ten dollar bill out of Curly’s hand and give it back to Uncle Sagamore, and then give Curly a five out of his own wallet. They went into the office. I went in after them.

  Curly put the five down on the shelf of the cash register and punched the keys to open the drawer, but just then Uncle Sagamore says, “Here, Sam, I can’t let you do that.” He grabbed the five, give it back to Pop, and put down the ten.

  “Now, about them tahrs—” he says. “Does that include the tubes, or is that just the casin’s?”

  “Just the tires,” Curly says. “But I can show you some tubes real cheap—” He started to make change, but Pop grabbed the ten dollar bill again.

  “No, sir,” he says to Uncle Sagamore. “I’m goin’ to pay for that gas. Here, I’ve got the right change.” He pulled some one-dollar bills out of his wallet. “No. Wait. I only got two. Here,” he says to Curly. “I know. Just give me five ones for this.”

  “No, we’ll split it, if you just got to,” Uncle Sagamore says. He pulled some ones out of his purse.

  “Then make that four ones and two halves,” Pop says to Curly. “Give three of the ones to him—”

  It seemed like they was all confused now. Everybody had money, passing it back and forth. Curly took five ones out of the register, put one of them back, and took out two halves, give three ones to Uncle Sagamore, and then some to Pop. Pop passed a couple of bills to Uncle Sagamore, and Uncle Sagamore took the five and handed it back to Pop with another dollar bill.

  “No, no, no,” Pop says. “Don’t you see? It’s as simple as anything. The gas was only three dollars. Three out of five leaves two. You give me one too many. Now there’s your ten—”

  “Sam, you’re just gettin’ me all mixed up,” Uncle Sagamore says. “Now, look. You take the ten and give me the five and two ones. Seven from ten leaves three—”

  Curly begin to look sort of dazed. They was standing on each side of him in front of the register, and he kept turning his head while they handed money back and forth in front of him. They had me mixed up too, because I couldn’t see where they ever give him any money at all; it seemed like he just kept taking it out of the register and giving it to them.

  “Now, look,” Pop says, “we got it all straight. Stop right there. Keep what you’ve got in your hand. The man gives the two dollars change to you instead of to me, and we’re square. You see?”

  He started to turn around to come out, but when he stepped back his foot hit a case of empty coke bottles that was tilted against the wall. “Damn!” he says. He waved his arms, and fell on the floor.

  Curly and Uncle Sagamore jumped to help him up. “You all right?” they both asked at once.

  “Sure, I’m okay,” Pop says. He stood up, but seemed to have a little trouble getting his back straight. He was sort of canted over to one side above the hips. He brushed the dust off his clothes. “Now we finally got that gas money cleared up,” he says to Uncle Sagamore, “you want to look at them tahrs?”

  “I reckon we ort,” Uncle Sagamore says. “We sure don’t want to have a blowout, like happened to Mr. McClanahan.” Then he peered at Pop again. “You sure you’re all right? You look sort of caterwampus.”

  “Can’t you straighten your back?” Curly asked. He was shoving the scattered coke bottles back in a corner with his foot. “I sure am sorry—”

  “Hell, I’m all right, I tell you,” Pop says. He rared up and got his back almost straight, but it wouldn’t stay. “Just a little kink in my back. It’ll be all right in a minute. Let’s look at them tahrs.”

  “Uh—sure,” Curly says. He got the tires down off the rack and brought them out in the driveway, but he seemed to have kind of lost interest in it. He kept watching Pop out of the corners of his eyes.

  “Well sir,” Uncle Sagamore says, running his hand along the treads, “ain’t they beauties, Sam? Sure look like a bargain.”

  “Man’d never go wrong with them tahrs,” Pop says. He had bent over to look at them, but when he went to straighten up he had to push with his hands against his legs. He was still tilted, and I hoped he wasn’t hurt bad. “But don’t forget,” he told Uncle Sagamore. “I pay part.”

  Then Uncle Sagamore pursed up his lips like he was thinking. “You know,” he says, “I almost disremembered—”

  Curly had been watching Pop. Now he turned and looked at Uncle Sagamore.

  “What’s that?” Pop asked.

  “Oh,” Uncle Sagamore says. “We don’t want to be late. That lawyer said to be in his office at eleven. Course, we could jest pay for the tahrs now—”

  Curly pulled out a handkerchief and begin to mop his face. “Law—lawyer?” he says.

  I happened to look at Murph then, and he was watching the whole thing, just fascinated. So was Miss Malone. Then Murph started to choke on his cigarette, and bent over with a bad spell of coughing.

  “You say lawyer?” Curly asked again.

  Uncle Sagamore didn’t hear him. He was scratching his jaw and studying about the tires. “We could do her that way, Sam,” he says. “Pay for ’em now, and have ’em put on when we start home—”

  Curly got a kind of sick grin on his face, and says, “Sure. Any way you men want to work it out. Service is our motto. You say you’re goin’ in to town to see a lawyer?”

  “Oh,” Uncle Sagamore says. “It ain’t nothin’ important. We jest got to be a witness in one of them durn lawsuits. We better get started, Sam.”

  “Lawsuit?” Curly asked. He seemed to have forgot about the tires.

  “Oh, it don’t amount to a hill of beans,” Uncle Sagamore says. “It’s just my wife’s Cousin Elmo. He broke his arm on the Johnson-bar of a fresno, workin’ on the road, and this tom-fool lawyer, this Benny Scofield, got hold of it and wants to raise a big ruckus. Goin’ to sue the county for five thousand dollars. Or was it eight thousand, Sam?”

  “I don’t rightly remember,” Pop says. “But it was somethin’ like that.” He pushed his back up straight again, but it still wouldn’t stay. Curly stared at him. His face was real pale, and sweat was breaking out all over it.

  He licked his lips. “It—it’s a little better now, ain’t it?” he asked Pop.

  “Oh, sure,” Pop says. “Nothin’ but a little catch. Be all right in a minute. It’s all my own dumb fault anyhow—anybody that’d fall over a case of coke bottles lyin’ there on the floor right in plain sight—”

  Uncle Sagamore took out his purse and unsnapped the catch. “We got to pay for them tahrs, Sam, and get started. Tell you what. Likely that lawyer’ll have a sofa or somethin’ where you can stretch out flat for a few minutes. That’ll straighten you out.”

  Well, it was the funniest thing about Curly then. He still had this silly, sick grin on his face, but he just straightened
right up and clapped Uncle Sagamore on the back. “Men,” he says. “I’m goin’ to set those tires right there on the bed of your truck. And you know what? I ain’t goin’ to charge you a nickel for ’em. I know that’s the way Jim would want it—”

  “Jim?” Uncle Sagamore asked.

  “I—I mean Jack. He’d want you to have them tires. And he’d turn over in his grave if I tried to charge you for ’em.”

  “Why,” Uncle Sagamore says, “we couldn’t let you do that—”

  Curly held up his hand. “Not another word. I appreciate good customers, and I aim to keep ’em.”

  Uncle Sagamore looked kind of embarrassed. “Well sir, if you’re sure that’s the way you feel—”

  “That’s exactly the way I feel,” Curly says, slapping him on the back again. He put the tires on the truck. “We’re friends, ain’t we? Let’s keep it that way.”

  “Well, I sure want you to know we appreciate it,” Uncle Sagamore says. Then he looked at Pop. “Reckon we might as well go, Sam. Did you get your change?”

  “Change?” Curly had that sick look on his face again. Then he snapped his fingers. “Oh, sure, that’s right. Uh—that was a five you give me, wasn’t it?”

  Pop hitched up his back again. It was a little straighter now, but he grunted. “Oooommmph!” he says. “No, as I recollect, it was a ten. You remember—?”

  “Oh, sure. I remember now.” Curly hurried back inside the office and when he come out he handed Pop seven dollars. Then he sighed and leaned against the door frame while he mopped his face again.

  Uncle Sagamore started to get in the truck, but he turned and went back to where Curly was. He caught Curly’s hand and shook it, real sympathetic. “I reckon if it was last week, we done missed the services,” he said.

  “But I just want you to know how we feel, and if there’s ere thing we can do—”

  He kind of choked up then. He grabbed the big handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose. “It just gets you,” he says. “Man bein’ takened off in the prime of life that way.”

  Miss Malone stared at him. Murph started choking on his cigarette again, and had to turn away and lean on the back of the convertible. Uncle Sagamore come back and got in the truck and we went on to the store.

  FOUR

  IT SURE SEEMED LIKE a funny way for Curly to do business. “Why you suppose he didn’t want to charge us for the tires?” I asked Pop.

  “Hmmm,” Pop says. “I reckon they was what they call a loss-leader. Anyway, he sure is a neighborly feller to trade with.”

  Well, it seemed like we didn’t have to stop at any lawyer’s office after all. We parked in the square in front of the store, and Pop bought five pounds of baloney and the hog lard and a box of cigars. His back had got all right now. He give me fifty cents, and I bought a Super Jumbo chocolate bar and a box of dog candy for Sig Freed. We was just getting back in the truck when the convertible pulled into the parking place next to us. Miss Malone grinned at Pop and Uncle Sagamore and shook her head.

  “You’d never think it to look at you,” she said.

  Murph got out and come around to talk to Uncle Sagamore. “Somebody told him who you are,” he said, “and he’s boilin’ mad.”

  “Well sir, is that a fact?” Uncle Sagamore asked.

  Murph nodded. “And I found out who he is. He’s new around here, but I understand he’s one of those Minifees from down in the south end of the county. They’re crooked as a jar full of pretzels, and meaner’n cat’s milk when somebody gets the best of ’em.”

  Uncle Sagamore took out his tobacco and bit off a chew. “Hmmm,” he says. “I reckon I have heard of ’em, come to think of it.”

  “Anyway, I’d watch out for him,” Murph says.

  They talked a little more, about the weather, and how election year always seemed to be hard on the crops, and Murph said business was pretty slow at the pool hall because it was hard to get good refreshments for the players. He’d been buying a little pomegranate juice from a man over in Potter County, but it was pretty wild stuff, and it had a poor flavor on account of mixing with the enamel it ate off your teeth while you was swallowing it. Of course, they didn’t fool me any. I knew they was really talking about evidence; they always mentioned it that way, like it was something else. Anyway, Uncle Sagamore says that as soon as election was over there was generally a rain, and the crops might perk up a little. Murph said he understood how it was, and he got back in the convertible.

  We drove on around the square and started home. But just as we was going down the street past Curly Minifee’s filling station we heard a yell, and when we looked around it was Curly hisself. He was running across the street waving for us to stop. Uncle Sagamore put on his brakes, and him and Pop looked at each other.

  Curly trotted on over and stood by the window on Uncle Sagamore’s side. He had two pasteboard boxes under his arm, and he was grinning real friendly.

  “Here,” he says, handing the boxes in to Uncle Sagamore. “I don’t know what you men must be thinkin’ of me, forgettin’ to give you the inner tubes for those tires a while ago.”

  Pop and Uncle Sagamore looked at the boxes kind of suspicious, but before they could say anything, Curly says, “No charge, men. I just wanted you to know I ain’t one to do things half way. You bought your tires from me, and by golly, I want you to have good tubes for ’em.”

  “Well sir, that’s downright neighborly of you,” Uncle Sagamore says.

  “Forget it,” Curly told him. “Nothin’s too good for good customers.” He grinned again, and clapped Uncle Sagamore on the shoulder, but it seemed to me like his eyes was kind of cold and nasty. “So you’re Sagamore Noonan? I’ve heard about you for years.”

  “Is that a fact?” Uncle Sagamore says.

  “It sure is,” Curly said. He took two cigars out of his pocket and give ’em each one. “Well, I won’t keep you. You’ll probably be hearin’ about me in a day or two, and I just wanted to be sure you remembered me.”

  “Oh, we will,” Pop says.

  “Say, I bet you will, at that,” Curly said. He give ’em a big grin, and went back across the street. Uncle Sagamore started the truck again, and we drove on out of town. He was kind of quiet.

  “What you reckon he means?” Pop asked.

  Uncle Sagamore thought about it for a while. But all he said was, “Hmmmm.”

  When we got back to the farm, they laid down on the porch again with Pop smoking a cigar and Uncle Sagamore sailing out some tobacco juice ever now and then and neither one saying anything, so I got Sig Freed and we went off to dig for gophers. Sig Freed’s a real long-coupled dog with legs so short his chest almost drags on the ground, and he loves to dig in gopher holes. He was raised in the city, but he’s as crazy about farm life as I am.

  We found a gopher mound pretty close to Uncle Finley’s ark. That’s down the hill below the side of the house, about halfway to the edge of the lake. Sig Freed started burrowing in, throwing the dirt back with his front feet and stopping ever once in a while to sniff a big nose full of gopher smell and snort. Uncle Sagamore says the reason he snorts is to blow out the old smell and draw in a fresh batch to be sure he was right the first time.

  I yelled for Uncle Finley to watch, but he was up on the scaffold hammering nails into the ark, and he didn’t hear me. He’s pretty deaf, and even if he did hear he wouldn’t pay any mind; he’s all wrapped up in the sin situation around the country, and in the ark. You see, he’s got this idea the world’s going to end one of these days in a regular gully-washer of a rain and everybody’s supposed to drown except him. I think he kind of looks forward to it.

  Uncle Sagamore says it was the Vision that tipped him off about it, three or four years ago. It was around two o’clock in the morning when the Vision showed up there in the back bedroom and touted him, and Uncle Finley run right out in his nightshirt and grabbed a pinch-bar and started tearing down the hen-house to get boards to build the ark with. He’d been at it ever sinc
e, whenever he could get boards, and the ark was about the size of a medium house trailer now, even though it was full of holes and didn’t look much like it would float. He’s Aunt Bessie’s brother, and he’s bald-headed except for a fuzz of white hair around his ears.

  We didn’t have any luck catching the gopher, so we went down in the bottom to chase rabbits, and it was after sundown when we got back. Pop and Uncle Sagamore was still sort of quiet while they fried the baloney and we had supper. I fed Sig Freed some baloney, and after a while me and Pop spread out our bedrolls and turned in. Uncle Sagamore sleeps in the front bedroom that’s next to the living room, and Uncle Finley in the back one next to the kitchen. Sig Freed curls up next to me.

  There wasn’t any moon, and I could see the end of Pop’s cigar glowing in the dark. Off in the river bottom that bird was going, “Six-furlongs-in-one-eleven, six-furlongs-in-one-eleven,” over and over, the way he does, and right in the middle of thinking what a lot of fun it was living on a farm I went to sleep. Then the next thing I knew I was wide awake and there was an awful racket going on.

  It was Sig Freed. He’s got a real deep bark for such a small dog, and he must have let out a roar with his nose against my ear. He jumped across me in the dark, and from the string of cuss words it sounded like he landed right in Pop’s face. Then he shot off the porch and up the side of the hill toward the sand road just barking up a storm. Pop was cussing a blue streak and trying to get untangled from the bedclothes, and just then Uncle Finley come tearing out the front door in his nightshirt yelling, “She’s a-comin’! Armageddon’s a-comin’!”

  He slammed into Pop and they both fell down. Pop stopped cussing Sig Freed and started cussing Uncle Finley. They got untangled from each other, and Uncle Finley jumped off the porch and tore around the side of the house still whooping and hollering. “Everbody’s goin’ to drownd! She’s a frawg-strangler!”