them.”
“Wish I could be a fly on the wall down there, by God. Must be goin's on in that cellar that'd make a man's blood run cold.”
“You'd think the cold would freeze ’em out.”
“Naw. Ginny told me Kenny's got an old Franklin stove down there, and he'd got in his cord wood long before him and the fellers went down to stay. Ginny said she had to move out because she couldn't get down to get wood for the stoves up in the house.”
The men laughed. “Reckon Ginny don't need no wood fire to keep her warm!”
“Wonder what Ginny's doin’ for company these cold nights. With all her boy friends down in that cellar, she must be gettin’ a trifle lonesome.”
“Not Ginny Stearns,” said Clayton Frazier. “Not by a long shot.”
Several men snickered. “How do you know, Clayton? You been takin’ up where the others left off?”
Before Clayton could answer, a group of school children came trooping into the store and the men ceased talking. The youngsters crowded around Tuttle's penny candy counter, and the men around the stove smoked silently, waiting. When the children had spent their pennies and one lone boy had bought a loaf of bread, the men rustled themselves and prepared to talk again.
“Wa'nt that the Page kid? The one that bought the bread?”
“Yep. Never seen a kid with such a pinched-lookin’ face. Don't know what it is exactly. He's better dressed than most kids and his mother's comfortably fixed. Yet, that kid has the look of a starvin’ orphan.”
“It's his age,” said Clayton Frazier. “Growin’ pains.”
“Mebbe. He's growed fast in the last year. Could be that's what makes him so pale lookin’.”
“Nope,” disagreed Clayton, “that ain't it. He's just got one of them dead fish skins, like his mother. His father wa'nt ever too ruddy himself.”
“Poor old Oakleigh Page. Reckon he's better off in his grave than he was alive with all them wimmin fightin’ over him all the time.”
“Yep,” the men agreed. “’Twa'nt no life for a man.”
“Oh, I dunno,” said Clayton Frazier. “Seems to me like Oakleigh Page ast for all his troubles.”
“Ain't nobody asks for trouble.”
“Oakleigh did,” said Clayton.
The argument began. Oakleigh Page was forgotten once his name had served to start the words flying. The men in Tuttle's began to enumerate the people in town who had—or had not—asked for their troubles. Clayton Frazier's old eyes gleamed. This was the part of each day that he lived for; when his disagreeableness finally provoked a lively discussion. The old man tilted his chair back and balanced himself on its two rear legs. He relit his pipe and wished fleetingly that Doc Swain had more time to hang around. A man didn't have to work hardly at all to get The Doc going, while it sometimes took a considerable while to get the men in Tuttle's riled up.
“Don't make no difference what none of you say,” said Clayton. “There's folks that just plain beg for trouble. Like Oakleigh Page.”
♦ 15 ♦
Little Norman Page hurried down Elm Street and turned into Depot Street. When he passed the house on the corner of Depot and Elm, he kept his eyes on the ground. In that house lived his two half sisters Caroline and Charlotte Page, and Norman's mother had told him that these two women were evil, and to be avoided like mad dogs. It had always puzzled Norman that he should have two such old ladies for sisters, even half sisters. They were really old, as old as his mother.
The Page Girls, as the town called them, were well over forty, both big boned with thick, white skins and white hair and both unmarried. As Norman walked past the house, a curtain in the front room window quivered, but neither a hand nor a figure was to be seen.
“There goes Evelyn's boy,” said Caroline Page to her sister.
Charlotte came to the window and saw Norman hurrying down the street.
“Little bastard,” she said viciously.
“No,” sighed Caroline. “And that's the pity of
“Wish I could be a fly on the wall down there, by God. Must be goin's on in that cellar that'd make a man's blood run cold.”
“You'd think the cold would freeze ’em out.”
“Naw. Ginny told me Kenny's got an old Franklin stove down there, and he'd got in his cord wood long before him and the fellers went down to stay. Ginny said she had to move out because she couldn't get down to get wood for the stoves up in the house.”
The men laughed. “Reckon Ginny don't need no wood fire to keep her warm!”
“Wonder what Ginny's doin’ for company these cold nights. With all her boy friends down in that cellar, she must be gettin’ a trifle lonesome.”
“Not Ginny Stearns,” said Clayton Frazier. “Not by a long shot.”
Several men snickered. “How do you know, Clayton? You been takin’ up where the others left off?”
Before Clayton could answer, a group of school children came trooping into the store and the men ceased talking. The youngsters crowded around Tuttle's penny candy counter, and the men around the stove smoked silently, waiting. When the children had spent their pennies and one lone boy had bought a loaf of bread, the men rustled themselves and prepared to talk again.
“Wa'nt that the Page kid? The one that bought the bread?”
“Yep. Never seen a kid with such a pinched-lookin’ face. Don't know what it is exactly. He's better dressed than most kids and his mother's comfortably fixed. Yet, that kid has the look of a starvin’ orphan.”
“It's his age,” said Clayton Frazier. “Growin’ pains.”
“Mebbe. He's growed fast in the last year. Could be that's what makes him so pale lookin’.”
“Nope,” disagreed Clayton, “that ain't it. He's just got one of them dead fish skins, like his mother. His father wa'nt ever too ruddy himself.”
“Poor old Oakleigh Page. Reckon he's better off in his grave than he was alive with all them wimmin fightin’ over him all the time.”
“Yep,” the men agreed. “’Twa'nt no life for a man.”
“Oh, I dunno,” said Clayton Frazier. “Seems to me like Oakleigh Page ast for all his troubles.”
“Ain't nobody asks for trouble.”
“Oakleigh did,” said Clayton.
The argument began. Oakleigh Page was forgotten once his name had served to start the words flying. The men in Tuttle's began to enumerate the people in town who had—or had not—asked for their troubles. Clayton Frazier's old eyes gleamed. This was the part of each day that he lived for; when his disagreeableness finally provoked a lively discussion. The old man tilted his chair back and balanced himself on its two rear legs. He relit his pipe and wished fleetingly that Doc Swain had more time to hang around. A man didn't have to work hardly at all to get The Doc going, while it sometimes took a considerable while to get the men in Tuttle's riled up.
“Don't make no difference what none of you say,” said Clayton. “There's folks that just plain beg for trouble. Like Oakleigh Page.”
♦ 15 ♦
Little Norman Page hurried down Elm Street and turned into Depot Street. When he passed the house on the corner of Depot and Elm, he kept his eyes on the ground. In that house lived his two half sisters Caroline and Charlotte Page, and Norman's mother had told him that these two women were evil, and to be avoided like mad dogs. It had always puzzled Norman that he should have two such old ladies for sisters, even half sisters. They were really old, as old as his mother.
The Page Girls, as the town called them, were well over forty, both big boned with thick, white skins and white hair and both unmarried. As Norman walked past the house, a curtain in the front room window quivered, but neither a hand nor a figure was to be seen.
“There goes Evelyn's boy,” said Caroline Page to her sister.
Charlotte came to the window and saw Norman hurrying down the street.
“Little bastard,” she said viciously.
“No,” sighed Caroline. “And that's the pity of
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