Chapter 3
SPECIAL AGENT UNDERWAY |
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| It was one in the afternoon so he was right on schedule. A watch helps but you can stay on schedule if you stick to your P.O.D. Okay, sitting in the tub does not cool you off. From the mirror his red face looked back. Also, his long, dark blue Sunday pants and short-sleeved white shirt are okay but he hates the red bow tie a lot. It isn't a real bow tie. You don't even get to tie it. It's already tied with a stupid clip that gouges your throat. His mother says he's too picky. Wrong! He just wants to look right and feel good. Of course, you can't always look right and feel good at the same time. The new black Express Riders hurt his feet in different places than the work boots but the Riders are cool. Not everything from Wal-Mart is punkus. You can get a good deal if you're patient even though in the meantime like with the dumb Kidconnections you might have to talk back to your mother and make a fuss. |
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| Downstairs is cooler because heat rises. This is a true fact you can test if you want. On the back porch he stopped to read Aunt Ida's thermometer. The temperature is in Fahrenheit not Celsius but Neal knows how to convert. In case he forgets how, Mariah has tacked up the formula: Celsius = (Fahrenheit - 32) x 5/9. She says on the Internet you plug in one number and generate the other number. Okay, some day he would ask his sister to let him test this fact for truth. For now he took the chalk and figured by hand. 87 - 32 = 55 x 5 = 275 divided by 9 = 30.5. You can divide forever but his answer was good enough for government as the marshal might say. Also, 30.5 Celsius isn't really hot but Neal was hot as a firecracker. It had to be what Mr. Watch calls the "hummiditty". Neal couldn't find the eraser and he used his elbow. He does not leave trails. People don't need to know what you're doing if you aren't breaking the law. He pressed his nose against the backdoor screen and peered through. Good -- no fat lady geese and no noisy you-know-who. |
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 | Jumping from the top step to the ground, he took off in a hurry. This made him hotter but the gander was out of sight and you have to pick your times. You can't do what feels good every minute. Coming to attention, he knocked on the door of Cabin C. While he waited, he used his thumb to wipe the gravel dust from the metal slot and plastic cover so people could read the card: Marshal Will Lightfoot, Milo, Missouri. Except for the Open House, reporting to the marshal was the last item on his P.O.D. Finally, he could relax and take it easy. |
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| Of course, agents are always on the job. And no, it doesn't hurt when your boss is your mother's boyfriend. In fact, if you think about it, that's lucky. But, hey, after being born tone deaf with two different colored eyes and after what happened to his dad, isn't Neal due for some luck? Look out! The marshal was in his skivvies. |
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| "Come in and take a load off, agent; you sure are looking spiffy." |
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| Setting another speed record, he raced inside so the marshal could close the door. There wasn't anyone around to see him in his underwear but you really never know. Okay, Neal was pretty sure "spiffy" meant he was dressed all right for the Open House. Well, he hoped so! When both your neck and feet hurt like crazy, you hope it's worth it. To cool off he sat in his chair by the new window AC. Sometimes you get so hot that's all you can do. The same thing with cold only then all you can do is warm up but you forget about cooling off in the winter and warming up in the summer unless you're playing indoor sports or in your bed and sick with the flu. |
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| The marshal understands. In winter he moves Neal's chair next to the heater. The electric heaters for the cabins are old. So are the TVs that only run VHS tapes. His mother says the heaters and TVs have to do. There are quite a few things his mother says have to do. But all five cabins have new AC units from Wal-Mart. She charged them. The marshal and Mr. Watch hauled them in the marshal's truck and unloaded and installed them and Neal helped. It took two weeks and two trips back to the store and was a real job! The cabins have knotty pine walls and tile floors. They are small, dark and square. The marshal says he's berthed in smaller. Neal wouldn't mind living in one but his mother says he can forget that because she would if he did. Here's the thing: you don't choose where you live if you're a kid. |
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| "Make yourself comfortable, agent, while I finish slapping it together." Sitting on the edge of the bed, the marshal squinted down his nose at his big black shoe. "So, what do you think, girl? Are you going to be simpático with your good buddy Rufus while we're out socializing?" He might be looking at his shoe but he was talking to Molly, asleep on her rug. Molly's a Walker hound. When she's awake, she listens to most of what he says. She hears the word "walk" in her sleep no matter who says it but she's proud to be the marshal's dog. She would never walk nor run away with a stranger. Her coat is thick brown and red. Her eyes are brown and golden and she half smiles, asleep or awake. She keeps herself very, very clean. The marshal says Molly is one love of his life. Who's the other? Uh, duh-doyah -- Neal's mother! |
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| "Why does Molly sleep so much?" Now that he's here, he can take his time. His boss doesn't care. The marshal's not pushy. Sometimes he yells at Mr. Watch but he doesn't really mean it and he never yells at Neal. Well, he hasn't yet. You pretty much have to go by what people have done to figure out what they will do. What else can you go by? You can't go by what they haven't done. Well, you can but that would be the same only in reverse. Of course, people change and do what they haven't done before. Animals are way easier to know. Molly would never lick peanut butter off her lips like a goofus. Molly would never behave like Rufus. |
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| "You need to read The Voice of Bugle Ann, agent." Manno! Neal was glad to hear the marshal. Sometimes you need another noise to drown out the recording in your head. "That book covers all there is to know about Walkers and coonhounds and tells a good story. We'll check it out from the library when we make the next run to Boonetown. You remind me." Neal decided to mention the almost full clear glass bin. Coordination is part of his job. "Ah, ha," said the marshal. Okay, there isn't much to say or do after your boss says ah, ha besides wait and while you wait, you might want to smile. Hey, smiling never hurts and you might have to wait a while. |
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| With his shammy cloth and spit the marshal made the wingtips glisten. Wingtips have a whole bunch of teensy holes over the tops of the toes. Mr. Watch has a smaller white pair gone kind of yellow. Actually, you wouldn't expect the marshal's feet to be so much bigger than his. The marshal is way shorter than Mr. Watch is. |
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| He gave a last spit and swipe, dropped the shoes and stood. He's almost 5'7" when he stretches. In Seattle he'd stretched every morning, reaching for the ceiling, trying to be a policeman instead of a sailor. Now he says that was boogie-woog-wug and being small made him handy in a ship's hold. Neal's mother is 5'2" so they fit. Of course, the marshal's shrinking. But so's Neal's mother. People things can work out if you let them. Just learn all the people rules and do not forget them. |
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| "How tall will I be, do you think?" It never hurts to ask grown-ups to talk about what you can't change. You hear some interesting stuff if you don't mind listening to boringus stuff, too. Okay, maybe Neal was simply full of questions. This happens when he's comfortable. Here's a good question: why say grown-ups instead of grown-olds? You better not call them grown-olds. They might slap you silly. |
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| "Too soon to tell, agent, but from your looks I'm expecting you to take after your dad and sister and shoot up overnight; one fine day I'll wake up and have to watch out in case with your head in the clouds you accidentally step on a shrimp like me." |
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| Good. Not good about accidentally stepping on the marshal, of course, which Neal would never do, period. Besides, that was a joke. No, no -- good about growing tall. Mariah is 6 feet and he really needs to be at least level with his sister; that's all. |
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| "So does that answer satisfy you?" the marshal asked. Neal said it did. What if it didn't? Never mind. The marshal asks questions to keep talking. Actually, here's a true fact. Almost everybody talks a lot where Neal lives. So forget about the marshal doing it. Everybody does it. Well, everybody except Pete's dad and Mr. Noland and sometimes Ham Fairwell and sometimes Neal's mother but not when she wants to discuss his future for sure. Still, the marshall might say something important and mostly you learn when you can because you never know. Here's another true fact. If he didn't smoke cigarettes, the marshal would be perfecto for a second dad. He's old but so's Neal's mother. After 20 there's not much difference that Neal can see. His sister's 25. Aunt Ida says Mariah's as old as the hills and this has to be old even though nobody knows exactly how long the hills have been alive. |
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| "Short, tall or in-between, life is sweet and life is good. Right, girl?" The marshal spoke softly and Molly smiled but didn't wake up. Well, they didn't expect her to. |
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| "So, Agent Edruns-Striker, if that takes care of that, let's hear it from you." |
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| Neal climbed down and pulled his notebook from his back pocket. How much better it must be when you don't have to climb up and down from where you sit to do your job since this makes you feel like a peanut even if your boss is too nice to laugh. Oh, well. You do what you need to do. From his report he read out loud the two items over his signature and the date. It didn't take long. It usually doesn't. Not a whole lot, good or bad, happens in Milo, Missouri. "1. Mrs. Hooper was in the bushes but she was dressed and Mr. Hooper was watching from the porch. He acted like everything was okay so I didn't bother them. 2. Someone was drinking beer in the park." He should have put Bud beer. Your report should be clear. |
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| "How much beer?" Okay, that belonged in there, too. Still, you can't go back to what you ought to have done if you need to go ahead with what you have to do. |
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| "Three cans." |
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| The marshal said, "hmm", which is like ah, ha so you wait and don't make plans. |
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| Okay, but Neal couldn't resist correcting the record and he just had to blurt, "I mean I found three Budweiser cans; I don't know how much they actually drank." |
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| "Oh," said the marshal and stared at him until his stomach rose and his heart sank. |
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| You have got to remember nothing lasts forever. Hey, didn't the marshal finally quit staring at him and lean over so he could line up his shoes? On his way to the bathroom didn't he squeeze Neal's shoulder? Then he stared at his own face in the bathroom mirror, cocking his head this way and that way while he trimmed his mustache with the straight edge. Neal had been way scared of his boss at first and you would be, too. Neal's mother claims the marshal's eyes are pure Paul Newman blue. Well, there are white lights crackling in the blue that pierce when he's looking at you the same time you're looking at him. The tight curls on his head and in his mustache and short beard are red and white and silver and springy. He seems electric like he might give you a shock if you grab the wrong part after he's turned himself on or off. Also, you can't tell which he is. The lines for his mouth and nose are cut harder into his face than Aunt Ida's cheek dimples. His muscles, bones and veins show like a map under his skin. Where the sun gets to it his skin is light brown like the gray foxes that live behind the garden and climb trees. The covered skin on his body and legs and big feet is bright white. On the outsides of his ankles are US Navy pig and rooster tattoos, red and blue against the white. He does not wear shorts -- not ever. In his right ear he does wear a solid gold ring. Mariah says the marshal's a man who stands out in rural Missouri with or without advertising. |
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| Stowing his razor in its kit, he sang, "when I was a little boy, I was a very good one. Daddy got a new suit and I got his old one. Green corn." Neal listened. He might be tone deaf and hear music in weird ways but he can appreciate the words to songs, can't he? Sometimes to understand the words, you have to find out why a song was written. Well, he didn't want to know why Green Corn was written so he just listened; he didn't ask. You can do this, too. Let them sing until they're done or you get called to dinner; if you don't care how a thing began, don't pretend you do. |
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| The marshal quit singing and started whistling. He stepped into his dark blue suit pants and zipped, strung his black belt through the loops and slipped on his dark blue socks and shoes. He quit whistling when he bent to tie the laces. He started again when he stood. He buttoned his white shirt, tucked in the tails, cinched his belt, popped in the silver monogrammed cufflinks, a present from Neal's mother, and snapped them. You can bet he didn't wear a dumb clip under his chin to tear a hole in his throat and someday neither would Neal. On the first try he knotted the black and blue striped bow tie. "Made in Hong Kong in 79!" The marshal held out the suit jacket like a prize. "How's that for durability? Who'd have thought 30 years after the fitting and fact, we'd be hobnobbing with the Fairwells? Huh, Molly?" Molly slept on. Dogs don't care if clothes last or about hobnobbing at a mansion. |
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| "We're supposed to meet in front of the café at 1:45." Neal said what he'd been told to say. You can't count on his mother to do what she says she'll do exactly when she says she will. She'll get to it but her time isn't safe. "And would you drive, please?" |
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| "That's another half hour -- want to walk Molly and put her in the pen for me?" |
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| "Sure." To walk Molly is probably Neal's favorite assignment. Hey, Molly had heard her favorite word. She stretched and yawned and gathered herself up. Wagging her swishy tail, she padded over and poked her cold nose in his hand. Then she flopped back down on the floor and waited for the marshal's permission like she should. |
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| "Good girl," the marshal said; "reinforcement pays with hounds -- understood?" |
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| "Sure." |
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| "We better rethink this, ask your mother; suppose you get your fancy duds dirty." |
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| "I won't and she won't mind." Fancy, schmancy duds! Wur! Oh, well, the marshal didn't know about lightening up with Mel Brooks and High Society or Neal's sore feet or the killer gag tie. He was just being nice; the marshal is just a nice guy. |
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| After Molly got permission and more reinforcement, they left the marshal and headed for the tracks. She obeyed when told to heel because Neal had to stop and put away his notebook. Your tools will be in poor condition if you don't store them before you get into a fracas and a fracas can happen any time. You never know. Aunt Ida has a big yard and garden. The gander protects a lot of territory and action with Molly keeps him in shape. Neal's backpocket was too tight. Do you ever feel like tearing off all the clothes you have on and dressing again so you feel right? |
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| "Watch her with those geese, agent. Wouldn't care to explain any sad event." |
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| Look out! The marshal had not gone back inside his cabin. He was standing in the doorway. Okay, sometimes you need to think fast before you talk or you'll be way sorry! Did the marshal actually know about the run and jump games worked out with Molly and the gander or was he testing? "They play," Neal said. He didn't see how this could hurt and it wasn't a total lie so he said it again. "They like to play." |
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| "Play, huh; yeah, well, watch out the dog doesn't get too carried away." |
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| Hey, why wouldn't he? Isn't Molly his responsibility? |
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| "Watch out for Watch." See! Even though Neal could have been killed or seriously injured didn't he drag Molly to safety as Mr. Watch roared by you-know-what bent for leather? The horn beeped and blared. When Mr. Watch braked and spun the scooter's rear wheel, gravel rained like hail. In the pen Rufus barked like crazy. Molly knows a good time when she sees one. She grinned as she clipped Neal's face with her tail. He heard the pocket tear and didn't care. The marshal who'd ducked inside, opened the cabin door a crack and stuck out his head. Here's what he said. |
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| "Jake, you'll pay to get this suit cleaned twice in one week and that's affirmative." |
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| The marshal was joking. Like Neal and Pete the two men are best friends for life. The marshal might not want his suit messed up but he was joking and his friend knew it because friends do. Mr. Watch leaned forward to adjust the mirror. "There," he asked the scooter, "does that suit your 'coperosity'?" Besides using funny words, Mr. Watch talks to things. Under his orange vest he wore the suit he wears to buy and sell junk, his father's faded blue pinstripe. To funerals and church he wears his father's dusty black pinstripe. He won't spend money on clothes is what Aunt Ida says. He could but he's tighter than a drum when it comes to his person. He wears bleach-spotted jumpsuits with pebbly Velcro zippers to the post office and to council meetings. With his fist he knocked on his helmut over his right ear. "See you at the shindig," he hollered over his shoulder, pressing his yellowy wingtip to the metal and speeding from the lot. He would be leaving early for the Open House just in case. Jake likes to be prepared is what the marshal says. |
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| It was Mr. Watch who'd convinced the marshal to return to Milo. When he retired from the service Neal was only three and still in Sedalia. At first he'd bummed from city to city and coast to coast and couldn't seem to light. When you do 28 years with the US Navy, you're plenty restless. While he was bumming, he would call Mr. Watch on the phone. The two of them have stayed in touch since they were boys. It's what best friends do. Anyhow, the marshal would call and Mr. Watch would say come on home where people know you and you belong. Don't expect me to stay is what the marshal told his friend the very last call from Chicago. Well, you never know. He rented Cabin C as soon as he met Neal's mother. She and Mr. Watch asked him to take on the law job. "Give something back to the community," said his mother. She has ideas about giving back to the community -- one after another. |
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| The marshal shut the door and the dog fox skipped along the fence. Neal hunched down, holding tight to Molly's collar. He didn't have to. Her ears and nose pointed to the River. Molly tolerates the fox family in the brush at the back of the vegetable garden. The marshal says this is amazing. The gander tolerates them, too. This isn't amazing because no way is the dog fox going to kill a goose for his family's supper. He's half the gander's size and the gander would finish him off in a minute. Skidding to a halt, he sat down in the grass to scratch a flea. He looks better in the fall with his full red coat, black stockings and fluffy tail that he waves when he's not scratching. In the spring the kits play and pretend to catch things while the parents try to teach them how to hunt and get serious. The mother is called a vixen. She looks worn out but proud of herself and her family. The kits are very cool to see. |
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| When they grow up, they're supposed to move to their own territory. If they don't, their parents chase them off. This might sound mean but it's nature's way. Aunt Ida's big orange tabby Sunshine meowed in Neal's ear. With her tail stiff and high Sunshine pranced beside Molly. Molly knows better than to mess with Sunshine. Once she did and got her nose scratched good and hard. The dog fox decided to leave. Foxes and cats don't fight but they are not buddies. Maybe this is because they both eat voles and field mice. Still, there are plenty of voles and field mice. Aunt Ida says Milo, Missouri will not run out of rodents in anyone's lifetime. After a tiny bit of geese fun that hurt no one, Neal and Molly joined Rufus. Rufus would chase geese, cats and foxes too if he had the chance but he's either penned or with his owner. Even loose, Rufus probably couldn't win a race -- okay, maybe a short race against a turtle if you think those jokes are funny. Rufus is a liver and white springer spaniel. He likes to be rubbed so Neal rubbed his ears and stomach and removed 16 burrs. Rufus isn't smart but he tries. Hey, person or dog -- all you can do is try. Neal nodded at the sense of this true fact and patted each dog good-bye. |
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| Back in Cabin C, he hoped the marshal would be set. So much for hoping; the marshal opened the playing cards box and slid in gross handrolled cigarettes. |
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| "Smoking is bad for you. Everyone says so." Okay, Neal might not talk much but hasn't he said this at least a gazillion times to the marshal? Oh, well. Usually you keep talking about important stuff even if talking about it doesn't do you any good. |
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| "Sit down, agent; the subject is serious and I want to be sure I'm understood." |
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| Neal knew what was coming but he climbed up in his chair as directed. His hands stunk from dog so he sat on them and raised his chin and tried to look interested. |
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| "Let me lay out my own case, agent. Between you, me and the deep blue sea this snipe could not do 25 years below deck without lighting up, not in air so thick with sweat, oil and grease that you breathed syrup while you hid from or tore after Cubans, Koreans, Vietnamese, Arabs, Russians, Congolese, whichever enemy the brass claimed would kill you if you didn't protect your sorry self by killing them first. Bad grammar but reality. I could not put the time in this man's Navy without a pack of smokes handy to keep me and my engines dry and fired. In those days it was Camels, Luckies, Willie the Penguin and tall Pall Malls. Now I roll Bugler, the cheapest tobacco remaining on the US of A market. Some bad habits finish you in funny ways with change to spare. As for you and smoking, just do not go there." |
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| Okay, if you think Neal wanted to argue some more with the marshal, you are wrong. Smoking talk can get boring. He did want to wash his hands and got down. The marshal leaves the shoe cleaning box under the bathroom sink but someday Neal won't need anything to stand on. He'll be able to reach every single faucet in the world. Anyhow, you might be in the middle of a problem but if you don't like to breathe around yourself, that's worse. Tending to your worst problem comes first. |
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| Besides, he'd heard way too many times what the marshal had to say. Talking brass and engines and foreign people, whatever. If he asks his mother why anyone would keep smoking when smoking kills, she says nobody is perfect. Hey, he knows this. He just wishes she'd answer his question. If he asks the marshal, the marshal lays out his case that proves nothing. Maybe Neal should stop asking but it's not easy when someone you like is killing himself on purpose. And, of course, Neal isn't going to smoke. He's not stupid. He isn't going to smoke even if his sister once did. |
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| Look out! The marshal had scooped up the fake cigarette box and was marching back and forth in front of the TV and grumbling. He gets excited when he tries to explain why he smokes. You know what? Neal wished he could go out and come in again. They'd talk about dogs and dog foxes and not about smoking. Well, not all wishes come true. This is a fact especially if your wish is to undo what you did do. |
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| "One good thing, as far as you and your mother are concerned," said the marshal, "is I don't drink like a fish any more. I grew up when drink had a stronger hold on this country than drugs or obesity. Making drink illegal never could stick, agent. Think about it. Back then this old snipe never drank below decks on the job but the sauce had me hooked pretty bad on leave. Meanwhile, the big wigs partied hearty, too, after hours, topside and ashore. In fact, the entire middle class that has since disappeared and you read about in your US of A history book stayed sloshed to the gills past World War II and through the Cold War. Now the boys and the brass alike go dry so we don't offend the enemy. Is this an improvement? Say, agent, talk about war always depresses me. Suppose you and I roll out and collect the ladies." |
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| Yesterday the two of them had washed and waxed and buffed the Honda Odyssey that sparkled in the sun. One week after renting Cabin C the marshal had gone to Marshall and bought the van for Neal's mother. Mostly the van collects dust in the lot because she thinks it's too much. But if there's a special occasion, she asks the marshal to drive it. The van should be driven. The marshal says new vehicles and old sailors shouldn't sit idle too long. He drives a Ford 150 Pick-Up. He chose one domestic and one foreign vehicle and he's keeping track. He has his own record book filled with pages of tiny writing. He keeps track of just about everything. |
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| If you ask him why he spends his money on vehicles, he'll tell you it's his and he wants to. At least, that's what he told the mayor. He told Neal's mother he's putting money into an education fund for Neal and there's nothing she can do about it so she needn't bother to try. He has a wallet stuffed with paper dollars and a water cooler jug filled with silver coins. The USN must have been a good place to work after you retire. The education fund is way okay since the marshal thinks to learn deer husbandry and work for Delaney with Pete are grand ideas. Also, Neal has no choice about school. Ever since he was born he's been told he's going to college like his sister and grandfather Edruns. His dad didn't, the marshal didn't, his mother didn't, but he has to. Oh, well. Some plans made for you by grown-ups aren't worth fighting over because they will happen no matter what you do or say; you can tell. |
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| The ladies waited under the awning. Neal flashed on what it would be like to cruise on by. Ladies make a difference. You can say that they don't but they do. Women, insists Mariah, but the marshal says ladies, ladies sounds nicer and Mariah can't hear what Neal says to himself. Their mother would sit in front so he unbuckled and moved back, scooching right. Sometimes you get a break; sometimes you don't. Aunt Ida came at him from one side. Mariah came at him from the other. He was trapped in between. "Move it," said his sister like a seating assignment queen. |
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| Aunt Ida handed him a cardboard box. "Deviled crab and hot. Mind you take care." Her cheeks were rosy; her eyes, happy behind her glasses. She wore a slickery tan pantsuit and new white tennis shoes, probably bought when Neal's mother bought the Kidconnections. "Praise the Lord," she said and buckled in. With her left hand she reached for the box and settled it in her lap. Hey, Neal didn't mind! He hates fish smell something awful. In her right hand she gripped her portable bible. She won't travel without a bible. She's a serious Christian who never needs to be born again and is always ready to share the Word. When she's sharing, especially if you're a kid, she does not like to be interrupted or ignored. Also, she's not ashamed of her figure which she says has grown larger over time like her love of the Lord. |
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| "Got a question, Aunt Ida," said the marshal. "You think your geese are safe with Molly so long as Neal stands yard guard and runs any necessary interference? We were talking about how we sure wouldn't want something unpleasant to happen." |
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| "Sakes alive! You worried about the geese, dog or boy? If it's the geese, let the Lord take care of his own." Aunt Ida opened her bible. In his head, Neal crossed his fingers. His mother won't let him refuse when Aunt Ida asks him to read but you don't always feel like reading out loud. This is a fact. You can say practice makes perfect but you're performing when you read and he was not in the mood to act. |
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| "That gander could use a little sauce. I watch from the café." His mother leaned over and kissed the marshal's cheek. Then she turned around and winked at Neal. Manno! What a relief! Actually he hadn't been too sure. You never know. But if his mother says the geese games are okay, they're okay and that's final. Also, it's a good idea to know if and when your mother's watching you -- okay, if and when anyone's watching you but especially your mother. Neal's mother smelled better than Evening of Paris on this day and a bunch better than crab. She looked nice too like always. Her lavender hair curled naturally in place. She wore a long soft rosy dress and the rainbow shawl made in India that came from the marshal's duffel bag. He keeps the bag in the back of his closet and finds cool gifts for her on her birthday and Christmas. The shawl was a big hit. So were a carved mahogany statue of a water buffalo from the Philippine Islands and a giant green glass vase from Venice, Italy. Except for the Odyssey, pleasing Neal's mother is pretty easy. |
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| "Can we go?" asked Mariah, "I want to collect for the ruined tape of A Wedding. Mother, do you think the man without values simply couldn't bear the existence of a fine movie?" Neal's sister wore a short-sleeved black T-shirt and gold body suit with teeny straps and black, skinny strapped sandals. Down her left shoulder hung one thick blond braid with the end like a tassel on the drapes in Aunt Ida's parlor. The marshal says men of her generation who meet Mariah are lost to the present. Her brother doesn't know what this means but their mother calls it a compliment. |
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| "His card is open," their mother said now; "he can pay for the movie that way." |
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| "You mind your p's and q's, Juanita Lou," said Aunt Ida; "or it's you who'll pay." |
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| Here's the deal: maybe he'd ruined a movie and made Mariah madder but Lewis N. Clark had made almost everybody mad from the very getgo. When it came to Travel Stop business, he was too pushy and nosy. He wanted to know Aunt Ida's flour brand and how Mariah paid lottery wins. He asked questions from daylight until dark. Only Neal's mother had anything good to say about Lewis N. Clark. |