kept pushing back the brown shag of his hair. His skintight pants showed off the hard length of his legs and the great breadth of his whiteshirted chest and shoulders. The young man laughed and said in a harsh, high voice, as Johnny approached,
âI can beat any man or boy in the County, and hereâs five dollars says I can.
He buried his white teeth in the mug and came up, mouth and beard shining. A gold coin glinted in his free hand. A hush fell on the crowd. Two men removed their hats, perhaps to see better. Johnny joined Zeke on the edges of the crowd.
âI said I can lick any man or boy in this County.
âAnd he can do it too, a solemn, sharpfaced man confided to Johnny. Just like he says, canât none of âem touch âim. Flash Perkins kin outrun âem all.
From this remark, Johnny gathered that the talk was about the annual Fourth of July Footrace by which the fastest runner in Raintree County was determined.
âOur boy from Prairie Townshipâll make yuh eat them words this afternoon, a voice in the crowd said.
âWho said that? Flash Perkins said.
His forehead shot up into ridges, his mouth went on smiling, his eyes never changed from the childlike, excited look. He shoved his way into the crowd.
âHot darn! Zeke said. A fight!
The crowd withdrew leaving one man alone in a ring of red faces. The man, a tall gawky fellow, looked embarrassed and put upon. He extended his arm, his finger almost touching Flash Perkinsâ nose.
âTake it easy now, brother, he said. Better not start nothinâ you cainât finish.
His voice was high and nervous.
âYou the man that said that? Flash Perkins asked.
âYes, I am. I said it, and I stick by it.
âReckon you wouldnât want to cover that there statement with a little coin?
The man looked relieved.
âI cainât cover it by myself, but theyâs a bunch of us from Prairie will make up a pot for Pud Foster.
âGit a hat, said a voice.
âHereâs a hat, said a voice.
âWhoâs hereâll back Pud Foster from Prairie?
âIâll put in, a man said. He can beat any beersot from town any day.
Several men shoved their way in and began to talk bets. There was a frightful blast of sound. It was the band starting up again. They were playing âYankee Doodle.â
âShucks, Zeke said. No fight.
âBut that sure ought to be some race, Johnny said.
âWhatâs going on, boys?
It was T. D. He was taller than anyone else in the crowd. His blond pointed beard was bobbing up and down. He was rubbing his hands together and smacking his lips.
âTheyâre betting on a race, Johnny said.
âThatâs what I thought, T. D. said.
He pushed his way into the crowd.
âGambling is a sin before the Lord, gentlemen. Put up your money.
âPut up your lip, you old she-goat, a man said.
The crowd roared.
âPaâs gittinâ hisself into something, Zeke said. Looks like they might be a fight after all, and us in it.
âNo harm done, Pop, Flash Perkins said. Here, give the old guy a drink.
âWho is that crazy old bastard, anyway? the solemn, sharpfaced citizen said to Zeke.
âThatâs my pa, Zeke said.
Zeke was seventeen and looked a man. His red hair bristled all directions.
âWhatâs that? the man said.
âI said thatâs my father.
âO, the man said. Is that a fact?
He looked thoughtful and began to move away through the crowd.
âYoung man, T. D. said to Flash Perkins, who was holding his beermug in one hand and a hatful of money in the other, donât you know that your body is a temple of the spirit and you defile it and pollute it with that devilâs brew you have there?
Flashâs forehead made ridges.
âIf you say so, Pappy.
âHello, Johnny.
It was Ellen Shawnessy, her face excited and curious, her small body straining on tiptoes to see over the shoulders of the
âI can beat any man or boy in the County, and hereâs five dollars says I can.
He buried his white teeth in the mug and came up, mouth and beard shining. A gold coin glinted in his free hand. A hush fell on the crowd. Two men removed their hats, perhaps to see better. Johnny joined Zeke on the edges of the crowd.
âI said I can lick any man or boy in this County.
âAnd he can do it too, a solemn, sharpfaced man confided to Johnny. Just like he says, canât none of âem touch âim. Flash Perkins kin outrun âem all.
From this remark, Johnny gathered that the talk was about the annual Fourth of July Footrace by which the fastest runner in Raintree County was determined.
âOur boy from Prairie Townshipâll make yuh eat them words this afternoon, a voice in the crowd said.
âWho said that? Flash Perkins said.
His forehead shot up into ridges, his mouth went on smiling, his eyes never changed from the childlike, excited look. He shoved his way into the crowd.
âHot darn! Zeke said. A fight!
The crowd withdrew leaving one man alone in a ring of red faces. The man, a tall gawky fellow, looked embarrassed and put upon. He extended his arm, his finger almost touching Flash Perkinsâ nose.
âTake it easy now, brother, he said. Better not start nothinâ you cainât finish.
His voice was high and nervous.
âYou the man that said that? Flash Perkins asked.
âYes, I am. I said it, and I stick by it.
âReckon you wouldnât want to cover that there statement with a little coin?
The man looked relieved.
âI cainât cover it by myself, but theyâs a bunch of us from Prairie will make up a pot for Pud Foster.
âGit a hat, said a voice.
âHereâs a hat, said a voice.
âWhoâs hereâll back Pud Foster from Prairie?
âIâll put in, a man said. He can beat any beersot from town any day.
Several men shoved their way in and began to talk bets. There was a frightful blast of sound. It was the band starting up again. They were playing âYankee Doodle.â
âShucks, Zeke said. No fight.
âBut that sure ought to be some race, Johnny said.
âWhatâs going on, boys?
It was T. D. He was taller than anyone else in the crowd. His blond pointed beard was bobbing up and down. He was rubbing his hands together and smacking his lips.
âTheyâre betting on a race, Johnny said.
âThatâs what I thought, T. D. said.
He pushed his way into the crowd.
âGambling is a sin before the Lord, gentlemen. Put up your money.
âPut up your lip, you old she-goat, a man said.
The crowd roared.
âPaâs gittinâ hisself into something, Zeke said. Looks like they might be a fight after all, and us in it.
âNo harm done, Pop, Flash Perkins said. Here, give the old guy a drink.
âWho is that crazy old bastard, anyway? the solemn, sharpfaced citizen said to Zeke.
âThatâs my pa, Zeke said.
Zeke was seventeen and looked a man. His red hair bristled all directions.
âWhatâs that? the man said.
âI said thatâs my father.
âO, the man said. Is that a fact?
He looked thoughtful and began to move away through the crowd.
âYoung man, T. D. said to Flash Perkins, who was holding his beermug in one hand and a hatful of money in the other, donât you know that your body is a temple of the spirit and you defile it and pollute it with that devilâs brew you have there?
Flashâs forehead made ridges.
âIf you say so, Pappy.
âHello, Johnny.
It was Ellen Shawnessy, her face excited and curious, her small body straining on tiptoes to see over the shoulders of the
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