Books › Blue Book v082 n01 [1945-11], 1945 › scan 102
Scan 102
Blue Book v082 n01 [1945-11], 1945
62 lines. Read by computer on 18 September 2026. No printed page number was found. See the scan on archive.org.
1fish in heavy paper; he had taken the violin-case down from its peg and raked four dirt-dauber nests from it.
3He paused at the door, thinking. Then he reached up to the left and took the rifle down. He thumbed back the hammer. A moment later he lowered it lovingly into place and slid the old gun back onto its rack.
5The five cartridges in the pouch rattled mellowly. Lochinvar's main stock of precious ammunition was buried in a tin coffee can beneath a loose floor plank. He propped the back-room door with a length of scantling, went out the front door, locked it and departed.
7He dropped his letter to Dr. Horton into the mail-box at the blacktop highway, raised the flag, took to the right and headed eagerly for Miss Flossie Judson's place. He walked with a long, loose gait. A light mist of catfish aroma swirled behind him. The morning was warming up, and the highway was sunny. Courtin' had its penalties, all right! It must be danged-awful hot, pickin' cotton! He hoped Miss Flossie would invite him to stay for lunch….
9At last Mr. Poteet looked fondly upon the white-with-green-trim Judson bungalow in the large yard, which was set with roses and shrubs and enclosed by a neat whitewashed paling fence.
11He entered the gate with a dignity worthy of his mission.
13Miss Flossie came to the door in answer to his knock. She was a large woman of positive air, backed up by a red face, a mannish voice—cultivated for business dealings—and small, shrewd blue eyes. She gasped lightly at sight of her caller.
15"Morning, Mist' P'teet," she greeted him, noting in one swift-darting glance the splendor of his raiment, the violin-case, and the paper-wrapped bundle from which emanated the unmistakable odor of warm catfish. "Won't you come in?"
17"Thankee, ma'am." Lochinvar removed his hat carefully and bowed. "It's a pleasure to set eyes on you this bright fall mornin', Miss Flossie. I've brought you some catfish, dressed—"
19"Come in and have a chair," she broke in, taking the bundle. "Thank you. I'll put the fish in the electric."
21"You're plumb welcome. They're right fresh-caught, none over a poun' an' a half." Then with pride, to deepen her appreciation: "They was skunt alive, ever' one."
23Miss Flossie winced visibly, and headed for the kitchen.
25When she returned, Mr. Poteet was making himself at home, sitting cross-legged in the big cherry rocker and dusting his fiddle with a red bandanna. She sat on the sofa.
27"This aint a restyrant," Lochinvar said. "Save yore money."
29"I aint fiddled in a awful spell," he apologized. "Bet my fingers is as stiff as cucumbers."
31"Cotton-picking might supple them up," she suggested. "I'm paying a dollar seventy-five a hundred."
33Lochinvar smiled sadly. "Miss Flossie, ever' man to his work. Mine's fishin' an' trappin'. I aint cut out fer pickin' cotton." He twanged the E string. "Purty tone, aint it? Gran'-pa brung this fiddle out of Ca'liny into Kentucky. It's—"
35"The Wittlys are doing all they can," she broke in, "but Jim Buck's across the water, you know. If I don't get some more pickers, I don't know what I'll do!"
37"Look, Miss Flossie: if I was a good picker, I'd be out there a-snatchin' it fer you; but I wouldn't pick enough to stuff a woodpecker's hole. Besides, just tryin' would wear my sperrits down to a nub." He plucked a heavier string. "Aint that meller? Gran'-pa tol' Pa 'bout playin' all night once fer a square dance in the Kentuck' hills. All he got out of it was a gallon of corn liquor an' the moonshiner's daughter. She turned out to be my gran'ma."
39"Why, Mist' P'teet!" Her voice rose girlishly. "That was all he got?" And wittily: "Everyone must pay the fiddler—even a moonshiner!"
41Lochinvar smiled wanly. "You're cute sometimes."
43"Speaking of cotton," Miss Flossie resumed, a light in her eye, "I've applied to the State Government for help. I've heard that convicts are being used on some of the larger plantations."
45"H'm, convicts?" Lochinvar stared at her. "Convicts—pickin' cotton?"
47"It was in the paper." She shuddered. "I'm desperate for pickers, but I'd really be frightened to have desperadoes on my place. What if one of them escaped? Mr. P'teet, I'd be petrified!"
49Lochinvar swallowed lightly, recalling his guest of the morning: the slick, cracked fingertips, the many evidences that he was a fugitive—
51"You c'd al'us call on me, Miss Flossie. 'Twould be a priv'lege to protect ye."
53"Thank you, Mist' P'teet. But what if he was bigger and stronger than you, and had a gun? What would you do?"
55"I wouldn't be skeered." He drew himself up with pride. "I got as far as the Argonne in '18."
57"You did?" Then she turned practical again. "What would you do?"
59"Well, I'd just outfigger him. Got to outfigger a dang' desp'rado." He stood fondling the old fiddle. "Le's tackle a tune."
61"I'll try to chord with you." But her manner was dubious as she sat on the plush-covered organ stool and pulled out certain stops. "I hardly ever play any more." She began to pump, making squeaky noises.
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