IT WAS TWILIGHT when Roy Blount, the general manager of the Estherville cottonseed oil mill, got back to the Pineland Hotel where Ernie Lumpkin and Joe Morningstar, the two oil-and-meal buyers from Atlanta, had been waiting most of the afternoon. When Roy left them at one o’clock, he had promised to be back by the middle of the afternoon to have some more drinks with them. He had purposely not told Ernie and Joe where he was going or what he was going to do, because all along he had been doubtful of being able to get his wife to consent. Nevertheless, he had gone home to try to persuade Elizabeth to let him invite them to Sunday dinner the next day.
Roy had tried for nearly three hours to convince Elizabeth that it was a matter of business expediency, as well as a personal obligation, to entertain Ernie and Joe. After pleading with her and making all sorts of rash promises, she still flatly refused to let Roy bring his out-of-town business acquaintances into the house. It had always been her greatest disappointment in life that she had not been fortunate enough in her youth to marry a distinguished professional man, preferably a lawyer or a doctor, and she had never reconciled herself to her lot. After all those years, even though the husbands of most of her friends were local merchants and commission men, she still steadfastly refused, as a matter of pride, to associate socially with outsiders connected with such common commercial enterprises as the cottonseed oil business. The sun had set when Roy finally gave up and went back downtown. It was the end of August and the days were steadily becoming shorter. He parked his car in front of the hotel and took the elevator to the fourth floor. He was disappointed, but he had expected Elizabeth to be stubborn, and for the past month he had been thinking of other ways, knowing Ernie and Joe to the extent he did, to entertain them when they came to town.
Ernie Lumpkin, with a drink in his hand, flung open the door as soon as Roy knocked the first time. Joe was propped up on one of the twin beds with his shoes off and with the electric fan whirling full on his perspiring, florid face. Both of them had taken off their coats and rolled up their shirtsleeves. It had been oppressively hot in the hotel room all afternoon and they were restless and uncomfortable.
“Where in the south side of hell have you been since Noah fell off the ark?” Ernie shouted at him.
“Ernie, honest, I didn’t think I’d be gone this long. I’m sorry I’m so late getting back.”
“Me and Joe are getting as drunk as peewees on a perch, waiting in this sweat-box for you. Damn if I’m coming back down here again to this god-forsaken rabbit hole on the backside of a pea field to pay you good money for meal-cake if you think you’re too good to drink my whisky. How about that, Joe? You think we’re going to do business with this peckerwood again?”
“Damn if I know why we should, Ernie,” Joe Morningstar said, shaking his head and puffing out his cheeks. Unlike Ernie Lumpkin, who was a tall thin man with thick black hair, Joe was short and stockily built. He wore a large, flashy diamond ring on his left hand and usually kept the stump of an unlighted cigar in his mouth. He was bald-headed, although both he and Ernie were in their early forties. His genial, round face was lined with a perpetual grin which was difficult for him to hide when he tried to appear stern and disapproving. He and Ernie traveled the cotton states for their company and bought up most of the oil, meal, and hulls produced by the independent cottonseed mills. They usually came to Estherville every summer, late in August, for two or three days, and contracted to buy the output of Roy Blount’s mill for the coming year. “Meal-cake’s the same the country over, they tell me,” Joe remarked for Roy’s benefit, at the same time holding his hand over his face to cover up his grin and trying to make his voice sound gruff. “Why should we come back here again to be insulted? I’d a hell of a lot rather be insulted in Jacksonville or Birmingham. They put nice trimmings on the insults everywhere else. This’s terrible, I’m telling you.”
“I swear I didn’t mean to be gone so long,” Roy tried to speak in a convincing manner. He was not quite sure just how serious they really were. He did not know them well enough to be able to tell, at a time like that, whether they were merely joking or actually offended. He had to be careful not to offend them, because next year’s contract was still in the process of being drawn up. They had agreed earlier to meet at nine o’clock Monday morning in the office of the mill’s attorney and sign the agreement. Roy was well aware that in the meantime he was expected to protect the stockholders’ interests by keeping Ernie and Joe entertained over the weekend, so that they would be in an amicable mood Monday morning. Charley Singfield, the president of the mill, had called him on the phone the day before when he heard that Ernie and Joe were coming to town, and had told Roy to see to it that they were well taken care of over the weekend, and to spare no expense for their entertainment. Roy owned his home out on Chestnut Street near the country club, his children attended senior high school, his wife had just recently been elected president of the College Club for the coming year, and he hated to think of losing his position at the mill and having to move away. He crossed the room and poured himself a drink, prompted by the thought that that would be the best and quickest way to get back on friendly terms with them. He was on the verge of confiding in them the fact that it was his wife’s fault that he was so late, thinking that was something both of them would understand, but on a second hasty thought he decided that it might be better not to mention his wife. “Anyway,” he said, flourishing his glass in a carefree gesture and trying to enliven their spirits, “I’m all clear now and ready for fun.” He tried to get Ernie and Joe to smile with him. Both regarded him with stolid unyielding scowls, as though he had proved to be someone they could never have faith in. “All my chores are taken care of, and I’m as free as the breeze. Here’s to success, boys!”
Ernie, giving the door an ill-tempered kick, walked to the window. He stood there with his back to the room and stared morosely at the lively street below. Electric store signs had been turned on and street lights among the trees twinkled over the tops of the buildings. The usual Saturday night din and clangor of automobile horns, mingling with loud street voices, filled the room.
Presently Ernie turned away from the window, thoroughly ill-humored and disgusted. He looked Roy up and down with a disdainful sweep of the eyes.
“Here it is Saturday night already and nobody’s done a goddam thing for the good of the fraternity,” he addressed Roy accusingly. “I feel like an enoch, or whatever that damn thing is.” He turned his back on Roy and strode to the table. Picking up one of the bottles, he held it upside down over a glass and watched the bourbon gurgle and splash. “I’ll be a sawed-off son-of-a-bitch in a South Carolina post hole if I’m going to stand here like a Foot-Washing Baptist waiting for a dry towel and see a brand-new Saturday night get by me. Where I come from, no Saturday night ever got past me till I could draw a bead and pull the trigger, and I don’t mind telling the world I’ve got one hell of a load tonight.”
He swung around on his heels and glared at Roy Blount.
“Ernie, what would you and Joe like to do tonight?” Roy asked, not for a moment having forgotten what Charley Singfield had said to him on the phone.
“God damn it, Blount, get off that dime and flush a covey out of the piney woods. This’s your town. You know where the best coveys perch after dark. Now, get busy, Blount.”
“I know just what you mean, Ernie,” Roy said, forcing a grin to his face. He put his arm over Ernie’s shoulder in a friendly gesture. “I know exactly. But I want to explain something to you and Joe. This’s a small town. A hell of a small town. It’s not like Atlanta or New Orleans. You know that. You can’t expect too much in a little old place like Estherville. That’s right, isn’t it, Joe?”
Joe Morningstar, placid and chuckling, would not give any indication that he agreed with Roy. He rolled the unlit cigar stump to the other corner of his mouth with a practiced movement of his lips and tongue.
Ernie flung Roy’s arm away. “The hell I can’t expect, bud!” he said. “You don’t know Ernie Lumpkin. I hope you don’t think I’d let my train get sidetracked at a flagstop like this over the weekend just for a fistful of funny money. Me and Joe can always take care of the money angle. What we’re counting on is you taking care of the important things in life. You’re a hell of an oil-and-meal man if you don’t take care of a couple of true-blood friends who only want the best there is. That’s right, ain’t it, Joe? You tell them!”
“Ernie’s never been righter, Roy,” Joe promptly agreed with a wide infectious grin. “All we want is the best in town, and plenty of it on the line. It’s never hurt yet to have some left over for a rainy day, either.”
“There you are, Blount,” Ernie told him with a nod. “Now, count the votes.”
“But wait a minute,” Roy pleaded nervously. “You and Ernie don’t quite understand, Joe. You know I’m a right kind of fellow. I’d do anything for friends like you and Ernie. But when you live in a small town like Estherville, you get in the habit of going home every night and your wife takes care of everything. That’s the way it is in a small town. It’s not like—”
“Ernie, we’d better put in another pitcher,” Joe said. “That bush-leaguer out there can’t find the plate.”
“Yeah!” Ernie agreed. He started shaking a warning finger at Roy, and shouted, “Don’t give me that kind of talk, bud! Your wife might, but mine don’t. Not when she’s a couple of a hundred miles from here.” He continued shaking his finger at Roy. “Like the engineer told the fireman when the girl lost her panties on the track, I’ve got to look out for myself.”
Roy glanced appealingly at Joe on the bed. Joe chewed his cigar stump busily.
To Roy’s surprise, Ernie strolled over to him and put his arm around his neck and smiled friendlily for the first time. “You know what my wife said to me when I left home on this trip, Roy? Well, I’ll tell you. She said, ‘Ernest, if you’re determined to misbehave yourself, for God’s sake get it over with in a hurry every time.’ That’s what she said, bud, and I always obey the little lady. Let’s get going!”
Ernie stooped over and picked up Joe Morningstar’s shoes and threw them at Joe on the bed. Roy began walking nervously up and down the floor.
“Here’s how it is, Ernie,” he said from the other side of the room, not looking at either of them. “Everything’s pretty well spoken for in a place like this. There’s not much leeway. It’s a hell of a closed corporation—a town like this.” He stopped and walked to the foot of Joe’s bed. “It oughtn’t be hard for you to understand that, Joe. It’s logical, now ain’t it? Anybody who’s traveled around the country as much as you and Ernie know’s that’s a fact. I’m not trying to tell you something you don’t already know. I’m not that kind of a fellow.”
“What in hell are you driving at now, Blount?” Ernie demanded suspiciously. “It sounds to me mighty much like you’re trying to beg off.”
“No, I wouldn’t try to do that to you, Ernie,” he tried to speak convincingly. “It’s like this. In a place like Atlanta or New Orleans it wouldn’t hold water, and you’d know I was lying. But here it is true. I’ve lived in Estherville for fifteen years, and I know the place like the inside of my hand. If you were in my place—”
“So what!” Ernie demanded ruthlessly.
Roy looked hopefully at Joe Morningstar on the bed, wanting at least one of them to believe he was truthful and sincere. Joe, in spite of his grin, tried to appear indifferent. He shrugged his shoulders, giving the impression that he was unimpressed by Roy’s explanations.
“It’s like this,” Roy began again, glancing anxiously from one to the other. “Around here if you want to make certain plans, you can’t count on certain things.”
“Uh-huh!” Ernie said as he and Joe exchanged pained looks.
“There’s no doubt about it, Ernie,” Joe said with a solemn understanding. “Our pal’s trying to ditch us. I’ve heard that kind of talk before.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Joe, you and Ernie,” Roy said quickly. “What I mean by certain things is—”
“You mean certain things like counting on hot biscuits and sorghum molasses every morning for breakfast?” Ernie said in a sorrowful tone. The corners of his mouth drooped. “You mean me and Joe can’t count on that around here?”
Joe tried to conceal his grin by rolling his cigar to the other side of his mouth.
“You know what I mean, Ernie,” Roy appealed. “You have to make up your mind in advance to be satisfied with what you can get. It’s not like—”
Ernie clapped his hand on Roy’s shoulder. “I don’t know if I can stand to listen to that sad story any longer, Blount. It’s the saddest goddam story I’ve heard since they told me about the cat house burning down back in the old home town. I cried my eyes out when they told me about it. You’re breaking my heart, Blount. Please shut your goddam mouth!”
“Ernie,” Roy said seriously, “Ernie, what I meant was that if you go out on a party around here, you ought to know beforehand that it won’t be with a—ah—well, I mean it won’t be with a—ah—a white girl, Ernie.”
The whisky glass dropped from Ernie’s hand and shattered on the floor. He took a step backward, as though to regain his balance, and looked at Joe Morningstar. Joe’s round florid face broke into a wide grin.
“Joe,” Ernie said in a loud whisper, jerking his head at Roy, “Joe, he’s a hometown boy. What the hell do you know about that? Who would of guessed it?” He swung around on his heel, snatched up Roy’s hand, and began pumping it enthusiastically. “Bud, you don’t know how good it makes me feel all the way down to my itching toes to run into a hometown boy like this. How in hell have you been? Hear from the folks lately? How’s the world treating you? When was the last time you went back for a visit, bud? Tell me all about it!”
“I hope you know what I mean, Ernie,” Roy said uneasily as soon as he could get a word in. “I wouldn’t want you and Joe to be disappointed about anything.”
“Do I know what you mean! Roy, I want to apologize from the bottom of my heart. I really do. I mean it, bud. I had you down all wrong in my book.” He held up two fingers and wrapped them around each other. “From now on we’re just like that, Roy, and don’t you never let anybody tell you different. Sock them on the jaw, if they do.” He walked up and down in front of Roy, at the same time rubbing his hands together excitedly. “There’s no prettier sight in the whole world than three hometown peckers helling around together on a Saturday night. Isn’t that right, Joe? You’re goddam tooting it is! To tell the truth, Roy, me and Joe thought we were going to have trouble with you. That’s why I want to apologize. From now on we’re pals for life—all three of us. Come on, Joe! Get the hell off that bed!” He flung his arms around Roy’s neck. “Bud, when you started telling that sad story, I thought for sure me and Joe were getting our toes turned up, while you were fixing to get yours turned down. Now, just to show there’s no hard feelings, Roy, I don’t mind taking the one with the two little sofa pillows. I’m sort of used to it now, and I don’t mind a bit. I’ll be glad to do that for a pal like you. Joe! Get the hell up off there!”
Roy was trying to say something. There was a pained expression on his face when he reached out and caught Ernie’s arm. “I want to explain, Ernie,” he said urgently. “It’s not all that easy—I mean the way you make it sound. I think I can fix it, but we’ll have to go slow. The first thing to do—”
“Get your shoes on, Joe!” Ernie yelled out, ignoring Roy. “It’s Saturday night again, son! I thought for a while the calendar was all shot to hell. Get a move on, Joe!”
“It’s going to take a little time,” Roy was trying to tell them. “You’ll have to be patient, Ernie.”
Ernie turned up the bottle and took a long drink from it. Then he slapped his hat on his head and flung the door open.
“Bud, maybe you don’t know me very well, but they’ll tell you all over that I’ve always been willing to cooperate by waiting just long enough. Where the hell are you, Joe!”
Joe Morningstar had his shoes on by that time, and he wrapped one of the bottles in a newspaper and followed Ernie and Roy down the hall to the elevator. They stopped in the lobby and bought cigarettes and three cigars for Joe before going out to the car in front of the Pineland.
After getting into the back seat of the sedan, Ernie slapped Roy on the shoulder. “What a night for three hometown boys to hell around, Blount! But I knew we couldn’t miss, didn’t you, Joe?”
“How could we miss when we’ve got a lodge brother to take care of things?” Joe readily agreed.
“That’s it!” Ernie shouted, jarring Roy with his hand. “We’re lodge brothers from the old hometown. Let’s get going, brother!”
Roy began to feel uneasy as soon as they left Peachtree Street and turned into Gwinnet Alley. He stopped the car half a block from the cabin where Aunt Hazel Teasley lived and switched off the lights. After that he sat there looking straight ahead and wishing he had never allowed himself to get into such a situation. If his wife had only agreed to let him bring Ernie and Joe to Sunday dinner, he could have gone back to the hotel that afternoon, had a few drinks, put them to bed, and then gone on home. He knew the longer he sat there, the more impatient Ernie and Joe would become now. He opened the door and stepped out to the ground, begging them to stay where they were and not to try to follow him.
He walked down the dark lane under the leafy water-oaks. There were several Negro children playing in the alley and he could hear other children farther away. He could see a Negro man and woman sitting on a doorstep, and others were seated in rocking chairs in the sandy yards. He walked slowly in the warm summer darkness. From all directions came the shrill, excited cries of children playing and the noisy blare of radios. When he got to the front of Aunt Hazel’s cabin, he stopped and looked at the ginkgo trees in the yard while he tried to think what he could do next. There was no one in the front yard or on the doorstep, but a lamp in the hallway cast a bright beam of light all the way to the gate. He turned around and leaned on the fence, hoping he had not been recognized, when a Negro man and a girl walked past.
He had been standing there for several minutes, still undecided about what to do, when he saw Ganus Bazemore coming up the alley from the direction of the grocery store. He walked over to the gate and stood in front of it so Ganus would not be able to go into the house before he could speak to him. Ganus recognized him right away.
“Good evening, Mr. Roy,” he said, coming closer.
“Good evening, Ganus,” he said, keeping his voice low. “How are you tonight?”
“I’m all right, Mr. Roy.” He paused before saying anything more. Then he cautiously inquired, “Are you down here looking for somebody, Mr. Roy?”
“Well, I just happened to be walking past here, Ganus,” he said quickly, trying to sound convincing. He leaned against the fence in an attitude of unhurried ease. “Is this where you live?” He nodded his head toward the small unpainted cabin behind the ginkgo trees.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Roy. This’s Aunt Hazel’s house. We all live here.”
Roy tried not to give the impression that he was in a hurry, and he drummed his fingers on a paling, trying to keep count of the seconds as they passed.
“Well, since I’m down here,” he said presently, “I’d like to speak to your sister, Ganus. If she’s at home, I mean. I’ll wait right here.”
“You want to see Kathyanne about something?”
“That’s right.”
“I’ll go tell her right away, Mr. Roy. I know she’s at home. And she’s been talking about hoping to get a steady job somewhere soon. She’s been looking all over town for steady work. You wait right here, Mr. Roy. It won’t take any time at all.”
Ganus opened the gate and ran into the cabin. Roy took out a cigarette, but, just as he was getting ready to strike a match, he heard voices on the other side of the alley and he threw the cigarette away. Just then he saw Kathyanne come to the door and look in his direction. She stood there a moment, before coming down the steps and walking slowly toward him at the gate. He waited until she was standing on the sidewalk before speaking to her.
“I guess Ganus told you I was out here, Kathyanne,” he began uncertainly. He wondered if he would ever be able to get around to telling her why he was there. “I happened to be down here, and I thought—” His voice faltered in the middle of what he was saying. He felt ill at ease in her presence, and he wondered what Ernie and Joe would say to her if they had been in his place.
“Yes, Mr. Roy?” she said, looking directly at him.
“That’s what I mean,” he muttered indistinctly, still groping for something to say. He wanted to sound casual and friendly. He had seen her at a distance several times before, usually when he was driving home from the mill and she was walking- along the street, but this was the first time he had ever spoken to her. He was surprised to see how good-looking she was, and he felt awkward standing there and not being able to talk to her naturally. He wished he could have stopped right there, and walked away. He had no idea how he could get away now, though, and the longer he waited, the more danger there was of Ernie and Joe coming down the alley. He wondered if he looked as much like a bashful schoolboy as he felt when he tried to smile at her. “How—how’re you tonight, Kathyanne?” he muttered.
“Oh, I’m just fine, Mr. Roy,” she answered so quickly that he was convinced she was reading his thoughts. “Do you want to see me about something?” He knew at once that he would never be able to forget how unmistakably innocent she had made the question sound. It made him feel as though he were betraying someone who had trusted him. “Was that why you came down here, Mr. Roy?”
“Well,” he said, wondering how he could answer the question, “that’s right.” He saw her smiling at his flustered appearance. “I did want to talk to you about something, Kathyanne.”
He was certain he saw a change come over her as she watched his nervous manner.
“What do you want to talk to me about, Mr. Roy?” she then asked forthrightly. “Is it about working at your house?”
“Well, not exactly—my wife usually—but it’s about something. I mean, it’s about something else.”
“About what?”
He took a step backward, at the same time nodding up the alley. “If we went up this way—we could talk better. There’s not so many people around—up that way.”
She hesitated at first, and then she walked past him. Roy hurried to catch up with her and they went past the next house in silence. Nothing was said until he suddenly glimpsed his car ahead.
“Kathyanne, I’d appreciate it a lot if you’d help me out,” he said earnestly. He grasped her arm in a tight grip to prevent her from getting away now. “This’s awfully important to me. I don’t know you very well, but I’ve heard a lot about you. A couple of lodge brothers came to town today, and I thought—”
“You thought what, Mr. Roy?”
“Well, these lodge brothers—they’re nice people—”
“What lodge do they belong to, Mr. Roy?” she asked without a trace of a smile. He stared at her bewilderedly. He was unable to decide whether or not she was being sarcastic. “What’s the name of the lodge, Mr. Roy?” she insisted. This time he thought he saw a fleeting smile on her lips.
“Well, it’s a hometown lodge. Anyway, just a lodge.”
“Do you belong to it, Mr. Roy?”
“Me?”
This time there was no doubt about it. She laughed outright at him.
“I guess so, Kathyanne,” he replied meekly. “Anyway,” he then said anxiously as he watched the sedan under the water-oak, “you’d be doing me a great favor. That’s how it is.”
“But, Ganus said—”
“He did?” he spoke up hastily, getting a tighter grip on her arm. By that time he was willing to promise anything. He could see Ernie and Joe opening the door of the sedan. “Jobs are a little scarce right now, Kathyanne. Everybody knows that. But something’ll be sure to open up for you soon. I’ll certainly keep it in mind. You can count on that. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day. Who knows?”
“Why are you asking me to do a favor for you, Mr. Roy?”
“Well, I did a favor for you not long ago, Kathyanne, and I thought maybe you’d appreciate it.”
“What favor did you do, Mr. Roy?”
“I got you out of jail a few weeks ago.”
She shook her head. “The judge let me off, Mr. Roy.”
He could feel her pulling away from him, and he held her with both hands. “The judge let you off because I paid your fine, Kathyanne.” He began urging her toward the car. “I heard Will Hanford talking about it in the post office, and I fixed it up with Will and sent the money over before court opened that morning. I paid that twenty-five-dollar fine for you.”
“I wish you hadn’t done it, Mr. Roy.”
“Why?”
“Because then you wouldn’t come down here and try to make me go off in that car.” She suddenly began struggling to free herself. “I hate you—all you white men! Why don’t you go after white girls—and leave us alone!”
He could see Ernie and Joe watching them from the rear seat, and he pulled her across the sidewalk.
Ernie jumped out and grabbed her.
“Look here!” Ernie said in a loud voice. “God damn, just look here, would you!”
He was glad to be able to turn her over to Ernie and be relieved of the responsibility. Ernie pushed Kathyanne into the car, got in behind her, and slammed the door shut. Roy walked around the front of the car and got under the steering wheel. As he started the engine, he wondered what Kathyanne thought of him at that moment. The fact that she was sitting silently in the rear seat hurt him more than she could have done by violently cursing him. He turned the car around and drove rapidly toward the country. They had gone eastward several blocks when Joe leaned over his shoulder.
“Turn this apparatus around, Roy,” Joe told him, chewing on the cigar stump.
He was planning to go to the fishing camp ten miles from town and he wanted to get there as quickly as possible. “Why, Joe?” he asked, slowing down.
“We’ve got to go back to the hotel and get some wet bottles, Roy. Ernie’s sucked this one dry.”
The empty bottle sailed past his head and through the open window. It crashed in a shower of glass on the pavement. Roy turned the car around in the middle of the block and drove back to the Pineland, carefully avoiding Peachtree Street and going through the alleys. The last thing he wanted to happen was for somebody to see him driving through town on a Saturday night with a mulatto girl in his car. He stopped at the rear of the hotel where the street was unlighted and switched off the engine while Joe went up to the room and got two more bottles of bourbon.
He was sitting there slumped in the seat, wondering what his wife would say if she ever found out what he had done, when Ernie hit him a jarring blow on the shoulder.
“Roy, bud, you’re a dream out of a bellyful of whipped cream,” Ernie said, shaking him. “I never thought you’d get up a decent party for us tonight. Why didn’t you tell me what was coming up? I couldn’t have got up a better party if I’d been doing it myself. But you sure had me and Joe worried sick all this time. And now you come through like a gentleman. I’ll bet you had this planned a month ago—didn’t he, Kathyanne? You had it all figured out in advance that two peckers like me and Joe would rather get our toes turned down on a Saturday night than have to go to your house for Sunday dinner and watch our talk in front of your wife. You’re one hell of a smart oil-and-meal operator, Blount. You know what? Well, I’ll tell you. You’ll end up owning that goddam cottonseed grinder out there one of these days. Believe me, it’s the smart boys like you who know how to climb that old tough titty of a ladder to success. You’re on your way up, bud, old pal, and I’m proud to know you. You can teach me a thing or two about getting ahead in this cockeyed world.” He jarred Roy again with his fist. “If it wasn’t for the wonderful people like you in it, the oil-and-meal business wouldn’t have no more romance than a virgin stuck in a zipper. Ain’t that right, brother?”
“I guess so, Ernie,” Roy said, slumping deeper into the seat.