“Mister, give me half a dollar for my children,” she pleaded.
The men turned all the way around and looked her up and down. One of them laughed at her.
“Sister,” one of them said, “I wouldn’t give a dime for you and a dozen more like you.”
The others laughed at what he had said. The trolley was coming down the street, its bell clanging. The men stepped out into the street and stood beside the tracks waiting for it to stop and take them aboard. Cora followed them into the middle of the street.
“Mister,” she said to the man who had spoken to her, “Mister, what would you —”
“Don’t call me ‘Mister,’” he said angrily. “I don’t like it. My name’s Johnson.”
The others laughed at her again. Johnson stepped forward and looked down at her while his friends continued laughing at her.
“Mr. Johnson,” Cora said, “what would you give me half a dollar for?”
“What would I give you half a dollar for?” he asked.
“Yes, Mr. Johnson. What would you give it to me for?”
He turned around and winked at the other men before answering her. They urged him on.
“Have you got a girl at home?” he asked her.
“Yes, sir. I’ve got Pearl, and Ruby, too.”
“Well, I couldn’t give you half a dollar, but I might be able to give you a quarter.”
The streetcar stopped and the door sprang open. The motorman had a tin disk pinned to his coat that looked just like the one Hugh had.
The other two men hopped on, calling to Johnson to hurry. He looked at Cora for a moment longer, his hand on the streetcar, but when she continued to stand there with her mouth open, unable to say anything, he turned and jumped aboard.
Cora was left standing beside the tracks. When the car started, she stood on her toes and tried to see the man inside who had spoken to her. She called to him frantically, trying to make him understand her, and she waved her arms excitedly, attempting to attract his attention. All three of them ran to the rear end of the car and pressed their faces against the glass to see her better. Cora ran down the middle of the street, between the streetcar rails, calling to them and trying to stop them, but the car was soon out of sight and she was left standing in the car tracks. She went to the sidewalk and walked back up the street until she had reached the corner in front of the stores where the men had been standing when she first saw them. When she got to the corner, she sat down on the curb to wait.
Cora did not know how long she had waited, but she had promised the children she would bring back some food when she returned, and she had to wait no matter how long the time was. But Johnson finally came back. He got off the streetcar and walked towards her at the curb. He was surprised to see her there, and he stopped before her and looked down at her in amazement. Cora was glad the other men had not come back with him.
She led him up the street, running ahead and urging him to hurry. Even though he followed her without protest, he did not walk fast enough to please Cora, and she was continually asking him to hurry. He stopped once and struck a match for his cigarette against an iron street-light pole, and Cora ran back and pulled at his coat, begging him to follow her as fast as he could.
When they got to the house, Cora awakened Pearl. The man stood close to the door, debating with himself whether to remain and see what happened or whether to leave before something did happen. Cora got behind him and held the door shut so he could not leave.
“How old is she?” he asked Cora.
“She’s almost ten now.”
“It’s cold as hell in this house. Why don’t you have some heat in here? You’ve got a stove there.”
“Give me a quarter, and I’ll try to get some coal somewhere,” Cora said.
“Tell her to stand up.”
“Stand up, Pearl,” Cora told her.
Pearl shrank against the foot of the bed; she was bewildered and frightened. She wished to run to her mother, but the strange man was between them. She was afraid he would catch her before she could reach the door where Cora stood.
“You’re lying to me,” Johnson said. “She’s nowhere near ten.”
“I swear to God, Mr. Johnson, she’s almost ten,” Cora said. “Please, Mr. Johnson, don’t go off now.”
“Christ, how do I know this’s not a shakedown?” he said, shivering and shaking.
“I swear before God, Mr. Johnson!”
Johnson looked around the room and saw John and Ruby asleep under the quilts on the bed.
“How old is the other girl?”
“She’s going on eight.”
“Christ!” he said.
“What’s the matter, Mr. Johnson?”
“I don’t believe you. You’re lying to me. Neither one of them is over seven or eight.”
“Pearl’s almost ten, Mr. Johnson. I swear before God, she is. Please give me the quarter.”
He walked across the room towards Pearl. She tried to run away, but Cora caught her and made her stand still beside the foot of the bed. Cora waited behind Johnson.
“Tell her to turn around,” he said.
“Turn around, Pearl,” Cora told her.
“Christ!” Johnson said, rubbing his face and neck with both hands.
“What’s the matter?” Cora asked him.
“It’s too damn cold in here,” he said, his hands trembling. “My feet are frozen already. Why don’t you build a fire in the stove?”
“If you’ll give me the quarter, I’ll try to get a little coal somewhere.”
“How do I know you’re on the level?” he asked her. “How do I know this is not a shakedown? I’m afraid of you. You don’t look right to me. How do I know you won’t go yelling for a cop the first thing?”
“I wouldn’t do that. Give me the quarter.”
“I’d be in a pretty fix, caught like that. They’d give me twenty years at hard labor. I’d never get out alive.”
“I won’t tell anybody, Mr. Johnson. I swear before God, I won’t. Just give me the quarter.”
Johnson pushed his hands into his pockets and looked at Pearl again. His hands were cold; his feet were, too. His breath looked like smoke in the cold house.
“Tell her to let me see her,” he said.
“Let him see you, Pearl,” Cora said.
Johnson waited, looking at her and at Cora. He could not stand there freezing to death while waiting for Cora to make her obey.
“Hurry up, Pearl, and let him see you,” Cora urged.
Pearl began to cry.
“They’d give me life for that,” Johnson said, backing towards the door. “You’d get a cop after me before I could get out of the house. I don’t like the way you look. Why don’t you have some heat in here? You’ve got a stove.”
“Honest to God, Mr. Johnson, I wouldn’t tell on you,” Cora pleaded. “Give me the quarter, and you can trust me.”
“Get some heat in here first,” he said. “My feet are freezing solid.”
“I can’t get any coal until you give me the quarter.”
“You can go steal some, can’t you?”
“Give me the quarter first, Mr. Johnson.”
“How do I know you’re on the level? I don’t like the way you look. How do I know this’s not a shakedown?”
“I swear to God, I won’t tell on you, Mr. Johnson.”
Johnson lit a cigarette and inhaled the smoke in the manner of a man gasping for breath. With his lungs and mouth and nostrils dense with smoke, he dropped the cigarette into the stove and thrust both hands back into his pants pockets.
“Tell her to come over here,” he said.
“Go over there, Pearl.”
Johnson bent down and looked at Pearl in the dim light. He straightened up once for a moment, and bent down again and looked at her more closely.
“They’d hang me before tomorrow night if they caught me,” he said unevenly.
“Give me the quarter, Mr. Johnson, and I swear before God I
won’t tell anybody.”
“Tell her to stand still.”
“Stand still, Pearl.”
“For God’s sake get some heat in here.”
“Give me the quarter first, Mr. Johnson,” Cora begged.
“And then go out and tell a cop?” he said shrilly.
“Just give me the quarter first.”
“You’re crazy,” he shouted at her. “I don’t like the looks of you. How do I know what you’ll do? You might run out of here the first thing yelling for a cop.”
“Give me the quarter, and I’ll get a little coal.”
“And tell a cop.”
“I swear I won’t do that, Mr. Johnson. Give me the quarter, and I’ll get some coal.”
Johnson turned his back on Cora and went closer to Pearl. He took his hands out of his pants pockets and blew into them.
“Tell her to stop that crying.”
“Stop crying, Pearl.”
Johnson reached down and put his hands under Pearl’s thick yellow hair, but the moment he touched her, she whirled around and ran to Cora.
“They’d screw my head off my neck so quick I wouldn’t have a chance to think about it.”
“Give me the quarter, Mr. Johnson, and I swear to God I won’t tell on you.”
He hesitated a moment; looking at Pearl, he shoved his hand into his pants pocket and brought out a twenty-five-cent piece. Cora grabbed it from his hand and bolted for the door.
“Wait a minute!” he shouted, running and catching her. “Come back here and tell her to keep still before you go.”
“Keep still, Pearl,” her mother told her.
“Hurry up and get some coal before I freeze to death in this place. And if you tell a policeman, I’ll kill the last one of you before they take me. I ought to have better sense than to let you go out of here before I do. I don’t like the way you look.”
Cora ran to the door and into the alley before he could say anything more to her. She slammed the door and ran with all her might to the end of the alley. Without losing a moment, she raced down the street towards the one-story stores.
After she had gone a block, she stopped and carefully placed the quarter on her tongue and closed her lips tightly so she would be sure not to drop it or lose it on the dark street.
One of the grocery stores was still open. She took the coin out of her mouth, pointing at the bread and pressed meat, and placed the money in the clerk’s hand. He dropped the wet silver piece as though it were white-hot steel and wiped his hands on his apron.
“What’s this?” he said. “What did you do to it?”
“Nothing,” Cora said. “Hurry up!”
When Cora got back, the children were asleep. John and Ruby were rolled tightly in the quilts, and Pearl was lying on the bed with her coat over her. Her gingham dress was lying on the floor, marked with brown streaks of footprints. She had been crying, and the tears had not fully dried on her cheeks; her eyes were inflamed, and her face was swollen across the bridge of her nose.
Cora went to the side of the bed and threw the coat from her and looked down at her. Pearl had doubled herself into a knot, with her arms locked around her knees, and her head was thrust forward over her chest. Cora looked at her for a while, and then she carefully replaced the coat over her.
After unwrapping the bread and pressed meat, she stuffed the paper into the stove and struck a match to it. She drew her chair closer, and bent forward so she could stretch her arms around the sides of the stove and feel the heat as much as possible before the wrapping paper burned out. When the stove became cold again, Cora laid the bread and pressed meat on a chair beside her and rolled up in her quilt to wait for day to come. When the children woke up, they would find the food there for them.
(First published in Story)
The Corduroy Pants
TWO WEEKS AFTER he had sold his farm on the back road for twelve hundred dollars and the Mitchells had moved in and taken possession, Bert Fellows discovered that he had left his other pair of corduroy pants up attic. When he had finished hauling his furniture and clothes to his other place on the Skowhegan road, he was sure he had left nothing behind, but the morning that he went to put on his best pair of pants he could not find them anywhere. Bert thought the matter over two or three days and decided to go around on the back road and ask Abe Mitchell to let him go up attic and get the corduroys. He had known Abe all his life and he felt certain Abe would let him go into the house and look around for them.
Abe was putting a new board on the doorstep when Bert came up the road and turned into the yard. Abe glanced around but kept right on working.
Bert waited until Abe had finished planing the board before he said anything.
“How be you, Abe?” he inquired cautiously.
“Hell, I’m always well,” Abe said, without looking up from the step.
Bert was getting ready to ask permission to go into the house. He waited until Abe hammered the twenty-penny into the board.
“I left a pair of corduroys in there, Abe,” he stated preliminarily. “You wouldn’t mind if I went up attic and got them, would you?”
Abe let the hammer drop out of his hands and fall on the step. He wiped his mouth with his handkerchief and turned around facing Bert.
“You go in my house and I’ll have the law on you. I don’t give a cuss if you’ve left fifty pair of corduroys up attic. I bought and paid for this place and the buildings on it and I don’t want nobody tracking around here. When I want you to come on my land, I’ll invite you.”
Bert scratched his head and looked up at the attic window. He began to wish he had not been so forgetful when he was moving his belongings down to his other house on the Skowhegan road.
“They won’t do you no good, Abe,” he said. “They are about ten sizes too big for you to wear. And they belong to me, anyway.”
“I’ve already told you what I’m going to do with them corduroys,” Abe replied, going back to work. “I’ve made my plans for them corduroys. I’m going to keep them, that’s what I’m going to do.”
Bert turned around and walked toward the road, glancing over his shoulder at the attic window where his pants were hanging on a rafter. He stopped and looked at Abe several minutes, but Abe was busy hammering twenty-penny nails into the new step he was making and he paid no attention to Bert’s sour looks. Bert went back down the road, wondering how he was going to get along without his other pair of pants.
By the time Bert reached his house he was good and mad. In the first place, he did not like the way Abe Mitchell had ordered him away from his old farm, but most of all he missed his other pair of corduroys. And by bedtime he could not sit still. He walked around the kitchen mumbling to himself and trying to think of some way by which he could get his trousers away from Abe.
“Crusty-faced Democrats never were no good,” he mumbled to himself.
Half an hour later he was walking up the back road toward his old farm. He had waited until he knew Abe was asleep, and now he was going to get into the house and go up attic and bring out the corduroys.
Bert felt in the dark for the loose window in the barn and discovered it could be opened just as he had expected. He had had good intentions of nailing it down, for the past two or three years, and now he was glad he had left it as it was. He went through the barn and the woodshed and into the house.
Abe had gone to bed about nine o’clock, and he was asleep and snoring when Bert listened at the door. Abe’s wife had been stone-deaf for the past twenty years or more.
Bert found the corduroy pants, with no trouble at all. He struck only one match up attic, and the pants were hanging on the first nail he went to. He had taken off his shoes when he climbed through the barn window and he knew his way through the house with his eyes shut. Getting into the house and out again was just as easy as he had thought it would be. And as long as Abe snored, he was safe.
In another minute he was out in the barn again, putting on his shoes and holding hi
s pants under his arm. He had put over a good joke on Abe Mitchell, all right. He went home and got into bed.
The next morning Abe Mitchell drove his car up to the front of Bert’s house and got out. Bert saw him from his window and went to meet Abe at the door. He was wearing the other pair of corduroys, the pair that Abe had said he was going to keep for himself.
“I’ll have you arrested for stealing my pants,” Abe announced as soon as Bert opened the door, “but if you want to give them back to me now I might consider calling off the charges. It’s up to you what you want to do about it.”
“That’s all right by me,” Bert said. “When we get to court I’ll show you that I’m just as big a man as you think you are. I’m not afraid of what you’ll do. Go ahead and have me arrested, but if they lock you up in place of me, don’t come begging me to go your bail for you.”
“Well, if that’s the way you think about it,” Abe said, getting red in the face, “I’ll go ahead with the charges. I’ll swear out a warrant right now and they’ll put you in the county jail before bedtime tonight.”
“They’ll know where to find me,” Bert said, closing the door. “I generally stay pretty close to home.”
Abe went out to his automobile and got inside. He started the engine, and promptly shut it off again.
“Come out here a minute, Bert,” he called.
Bert studied him for several minutes through the crack in the door and then went out into the yard.
“Why don’t you go swear out the warrant? What you waiting for now?”
“Well, I thought I’d tell you something, Bert. It will save you and me both a lot of time and money if you’d go to court right now and save the cost of having a man come out here to serve the warrant on you. If you’ll go to court right now and let me have you arrested there, the cost won’t be as much.”
“You must take me for a cussed fool, Abe Mitchell,” Bert said. “Do I look like a fool to pay ten dollars for a hired car to take me to county jail?”
Abe thought to himself several minutes, glancing sideways at Bert.