Intro to Wolf! Stay Away from My Door!

I came across this novel while I was looking for something to read. I'm sure you aren't familiar with the other novels in his cannon. (Waiting for Wah Wah, The Standpoint of Mercy, etc.) I could have started with either of those, but this one held my attention long enough to make it the top candidate to re-type.

It clocks in at 215 manuscript pages. In-spite of it's brevity I think it might be one of his later works. As I was reading it a recruiting information card from the Marines fell out. This could have been from anyone of my three half brothers or not. They all took a turn at the corps.

I imagined my father working on this later in his life when his second oldest was planning on joining up.

The novel tells the story of a man's life and through a somewhat clumsy device of being interrupted by his children we also learn a little bit about his kids. While I know almost none of it parallels my fathers real life, there are elements that are similar. His other surviving children might see it also.

Central to every good story, no matter how made up or fanciful the narrative is, there should be a core of truth. There are small flashes of brilliance here and there. But then I'm not a reliable source for your opinion. I do believe I understand the man just a little bit more through reading his work. I hope this tale can provide some entertainment for you as well

Tom.

CHAPTER ONE_Wolf Stay Away from my Door

WOLF! STAY AWAY FROM MY DOOR!

By

Ron Walters

This book is fiction. Nobody is real, only guesswork. If you know of someone in this story who resembles somebody, it is an accident, or he is a wolf and doesn’t know you because you are not real either.

To a redhead and two brunettes with a sigh

Of victory and love so sadly gone... too bad... too damn bad!

Chapter One

There has been this big wolfy beast howling on my doorstep for as long as I can remember. He’s had my door chewed almost down a number of times, although he hasn’t made it yet. But I guess he’s as close now as he’s ever been. At least the kids think so. They’re pretty worried.

I’ve been near enough to him several times to smell his rancid fur piece. But the good Somebody, so far, has stepped in and run him away, before he had a chance to sink his dirty yellow fangs into this weary Homo Sapiens he calls steak.

I say he, when I speak of this old wolfy character, but to tell you the truth I don’t really know whether he’s a boy or girl. One time I thought he was a bitch wolf, at least he had the eyes for it. One or two other times he looked powerful enough to be a wrestler, but I’m still not sure. Hell! Maybe he’s one of those things with a split personality or a herniated bisexual. Who can tell?

All I know is that he’s been bowling around so long that I don’t dare stop listening for him. He is a worrisome thing, and he does make me nervous.

I can remember the first time that old spooky bastard howled loud enough for me to hear his love call. It was way back when in the winter of ’35.

My mom and dad and I were shuffling up to the dinner table one Sunday afternoon. I was too short to sit in a chair to eat in those days, so I had to stand and belly-up to my vittles the hard way.. Anyway, there were only two chairs, and mom wouldn’t allow any crates at her table. Besides, I was smart enough to know I could lick a spoon quicker than everybody when I was standing with my arms free, swinging or otherwise.

But, getting on with it, no sooner had dad finished saying the Sunday blessing, than mom began raising holy hell with tears in her eyes. There wasn’t much more than two or three tablespoons of warmed-over potato soup in the pot, and that was mostly lard. There wasn’t any bread either.

Mom got to chewing dad up pretty bad because the pantry was empty. And dad kept telling her back how he couldn’t help it, because there wasn’t no jobs for a workin’ man in them days. Well, to boil it all down, dad taught me how to face up to the old wolf and made me a born optimist himself, but he could move when mom diddled with his dander.

Just as soon as mom got done with him, he turned straight to me. “Hank, son,” he said. I guess it’s up to me and you to get some grub on the table. You take yer club over to the south forty and see if’n you kin catch up to a rabbit and bust it a good one. Get two, if’n you can. I’ll go on down to the Jeseric place myself and see if’n they got a boar or two that need’s castratin’. Rocky Mountain oysters and fried rabbit would fit real good in our bellies tonight…huh, boy?”

“Why, John –“ mom said.

Then dad looked at her real stern and sage like.

“You got enough lard to fry up the bringin’s, Marsha?” he asked.

“Yes, John,” mom grinned back at him sweetly.

“But, paw,” I said. “Why can’t you jest get your shotgun out and bust some rabbits the quick way?” I could hear that old wolf howling so loud outside that I was shaking. But, come to think of it, maybe I was just trying to stay inside where it was warm.

“’Cause I ain’t got no shells to shoot, Hank, son. Things are pretty bad for buyin’ shells these days. But mind what I tell you. They ain’t nothing ever so bad what a hard workin’ man can’t get hisself and family something to eat.”

See what I mean about my dad teaching me to be an optimist? I know that he could hear the wolf as good as I could, but he was big enough not to listen.

I also remember that I got my legs wet clear up to the tukhus in the snow that afternoon. But I busted two rabbits like my dad told me. And he brought back the cuttin’s from some pigs – they were small ones, but tasty. My belly was too growling full that night to worry much about the wolf scratching at the front door. I just fell right off to sleep and never gave the old mange another thought for a day or two.

But old yellow fangs was cagey in those days... foxy too. He dad his tongue cocked for a quick meal just like everyone else. He prowled ad howled constantly. And…

-------

“Dad!”

“Yes Harry,”

“Hey dad. Can I have a sandwich?”

Excuse me for whispering to explain this, but Harry’s the oldest of my three boys. He gets pretty ancy at times. But I guess all twelve-year-olds are like that, especially when they’re short of breath after running home from school. And I believe in being careful with how you talk to kids. You know...all the stuff about frustrations and psychological jazz.

“Of course you can, Harry. You know you don’t have to ask.”

“Can I turn the light on first?”

“I don’t care, Harry. Turn it on if you want to.”

“Hey dad!”

“Yes, Harry.”

“There ain’t no bread. No meat either.”

“Don’t use ain’t, Harry. You’ll get in trouble at school if you do.”

“Okay. But what’ll I do about my sandwich?”

“Eat some peanut butter and crackers.”

“There ain’t no crackers!”

“Well, just eat the peanut butter.”

“There ain’t no peanut butter.”

“Lick the jar, then.”

“Marty already done that.”

“Oh.”

“Dad, can you hear me all right?”

“Yes, Harry, I can hear you. But why whisper so mysteriously? You’re not that worried, are you?”

“A little I guess. Do you think the wolf snuck in on us and got all the food? There ain’t a bit left in the house.”

“Don’t sound so downcast, Harry. No, the wolf hasn’t got inside yet. Old yellow fangs doesn’t like peanut butter. He’s a meat eater. And quit sighing so much.”

“You’re sighing. Things are pretty bad, aren’t they, dad? I mean, there’s not even a can of soup in the house, and the rest of the kids will be home from school in a couple of minutes. They’ll be hungry, too.”

“Harry...there isn’t but one thing to do.”

“Yeh, dad. What?”

“Now you’re sounding like and optimist. Find yourself a club and go bust a couple of rabbits in the head.”

“Aw, dad. You know there ain’t any rabbits in the city.”

“That’s right, I forgot, Harry. We’ll have to think of something else.”

“But what?”

“You know, Harry, my daddy always told me that things were never so bad that you couldn’t find something to eat. Say! I’ve got it—“

“Yeh, dad. What?”

“Why don’t you take the lawnmower and see if you can make a dollar or two that way. That ought to be enough for some bread and baloney.”

“Aw, dad. You know I can’t do that. We hocked the lawnmower five weeks ago. Besides, it’s snowing outside, and nobody wants their lawn cut in the snow.”

“You’re right there, Harry. I can see what you mean. But two heads are always better than one when it comes to mealtime. Grab a snow shovel and go clean some walks.”

“We ain’t got a snow shovel.”

“Anyone who want’s his walk cleaned off ought to own a snow shovel.”

“You’re right dad. I’ll go see what I can do.”

I’ll tell you right now that sometimes it’s hard being both a mother and father to five kids. It seems to me that a problem in the kitchen like Harry just had would best be answered by a woman. I’ve got to confess that I’ve been doing the work of both man and woman since Marty “he’s the youngest) wasn’t much more than a baby, but there are just some things a man can’t do right when a mother’s talk is needed. The kids have never complained, though. And we have always been affectionate to each other. That’s something I’m really proud about.

------

But getting back to this wolf business again. As I was saying, he howled and prowled and chewed at the door constantly, even when he was too tired and weak from hunger to sit up or lie down to do it. Dad used to say that the wolf was like everyone else in thoose days...just so plumb near starved to death that he didn't have the strength to make much progress. But he kept on trying. You can believe that.

While my mind is still recalling that infamous turning point in my personal story, as I recall, we never had anymore of that potato soup stuff for Sunday dinner after that. Dad would pick up a dime here and a nickel there, and everytime he did he would buy a shotgun shell and go hunting. Between his shotgun and my club and slingshot, it got so we had a steady diet of squirrel, rabbit, pheasant, quail, and pig-nut cuttings. When we couldn't get those, we filled in the menu with snapping turtle, catfish, and wild muchrooms. It was simple food, but it sure beats hamburger, chili, and peanut butter all the to hell.

And just to show you what a prophetic optimist my daddy really was, it hadn't hardly turned off warm the next spring when we got out first relief order from Uncle Sam. We had plenty of beans, potatoes, prunes, rice, raisins, flour and cornmeal to go with our meat, even if the flour and cornmeal did have bugs and bold worms in it.

But dad always said that a body shouldn't turn down the makin's for good vittles...especially when they was foffered for nothing.

Yes sir! We ate good for many years after that. And I guess that the old hairy animal with the wide open mouth found out that we were too fat and sassy to catch-up to and went hunting someplace else where the pickings were better.

After that winter, my daddy never talked about the wolf again for a long time, and I never worried much about him neither, because he wasn't making me so nervous. Besides, things were so bad in those years that followed that my daddy spent most of his time talking politics and the affairs of Washington up along Main Street with the reast of the rich people (everybody was rich in those days because everyone was so poor that they were on equal footing).

We little folk -- I thought I'd just toss that in so it would sound good in writing -- that is , the kids in our town had it pretty easy most of the time, especially when we had our chores done for the day and plenty of energy left to play on. We didn't have to look forward to going to college or stuff like that, nor worry about getting ahead in this world. Our folks taught us early that the best thing we could do was know our place and stick to it. Just think about eating and sleeping and working and playing and keeping ourselves clean and honest. If a job did come along, we were taught not to take it for granted and to take it without questioning the pay, because if the money wasn't enough, there was always Uncle Sam to step in and help out over the humps.

Then along came '41 and the whole system of poverty and circumstance and happiness kind of got all bunged up. The first thing I knew was that the old wolf came charging for our house so hard that he tore screenwire and all getting his snout thrust into my daddy's affairs. That time, my daddy didn't say a word about him neither. But I'd swear, when I saw him then, that the old bitch-bastard had grown to be ten foot tall. He plumb scared the hell out of me for good, with his elephant-tusk fangs and whorish red eyes and greedy mouth.

First thing I knew our town was engaged in a fue epidemic. I can still remember getting so sick that --

------

"Dad! Dad! Can you hear me, dad?"

"Yes, Wonderland. I think the neighbors can hear you, too. Stop screaming as though the world has come to an end. It's enough to scare the socks off an old man."

"Sorry, dad. I didn't realize. Is it okay to turn the lights on from up here?"

"Sure, Wonderland, you know it is."

"Dad, I think we ought to get Mrs. Tucker to stop by and see us right away. Think it'd be all right to run and get her?"

"Now, Wonderland, calm down! You know as well as I that Mrs. Tucker is off in Florida somewhere. That's kind of far to run in one evening isn't it? Why don't you come down here and tell me all about it without the hysteria?"

"Okay. Let me check on Laurie first. I'll be right down."

Excuse me for whispering again but I want to explain something right here. Alice -- I call her Wonderland most of the time but she doesn't like it -- is as smart and tactful as they come. Her screaming downstairs about Mrs. Tucker is just her way of letting me know that she has a domestic problem which needs my help. It sounds stupid I know but there are some things that a man can get terribly embarrassed about when he has to explain the facts of life to his oldest daughter. Alice is fifteen now and we have developed this code between us. One thing I have always done is to teach my children to never be afraid about coming to me with their personal problems.

"Dad, we sure could use Mrs. Tucker about now."

"We've been getting along without her advice for a long time now. Why do we need her help?"

"Well, dad --"

"Don't grit your teeth like that, Wonderland, You'll grind them down to nothing if you're not careful. Besides, you know how nervous that makes me. You don't want to wear them out before you're an old woman do you?"

"No, dad, I'm sorry. I forgot."

"Now, tell me...what is it that we need Mrs. Tucker so suddenly for?"

"Well, dad. You know that time about two years ago when I was all bloody down below, and I was crying and thought I was dying and didn't know what to do..."

"Yes, Wonderland, I could never forget a thing like that..."

And you got so excited that you were jumping up and down, and then went flying off into the neighborhood yelling something about Grandma falling off the roof..."

"That was just a figure of speech, Wonderland. Besides, I didn't get any farther than the front sidewalk."

"I know that, daddy. That's because you caught Mrs. Tucker and pulled her back into the house so hard that she was all out of breath..."

"Yes. I guess I was excited, at that."

"And Mrs. Tucker showed me what to do and explained all about it, and then came down to you and told you to stop yelling, 'Grandma fell off the roof.' And you got kind of mad and screamed at her: 'What-a-ya call it? 'What-a-ya call it?'"

"Sure, Wonderland, I remember that."

"And Mrs. Tucker told you to refer to it as 'that time of the month, ' and you said that you were no clock watcher but that you'd do your best..."

"Yes, Wonderland, I remember all that, but..."

"Well, dad, that's why I wanted to get Mrs. Tucker."

"Wonderland, I don't see...you don't mean it's that time of the month and you've forgotten what to do about it, do you?"

"Not exactly."

"Wonderland, I don't see -- "

"What I'm trying to say, dad, is that Crandma just fell off the roof with Laurie. She's upstairs bawling like a baby about it and won't let me help her."

"Good God! March right up there and tell her that I said to pay attention to what you say. If she's got any questions that you can't answer, tell her to come down and ask me about them later."

"Okay, dad. I'll take care of it, but I sure wish Mrs. Tucker was here to help."

I tell you, sometimes this younger generation scares me. Alice is part of it, I guess, and she really isn't a dumb bunny. But like the rest of the kids she seems to lack confidence in making a judgment. Just seems like they have to be told about everything before they act. I know I never had that kind of problem when I was a kid. But then, there wasn't anyone around to give you proper advice to act on.

-------

But let's get back to the wolf and the flu epidemic again. Like I said, I came down so sick with it that I came plumb near kicking the milk bucket in a dozen places.

Old Doc Benjind -- he was the town pill pusher -- came to our house near a hundred times to wipe the sweat of my fever away before he finally lit on the remedy for the stuff. He gave me some great red pills that turned my poop green and my eyeballs yellow, but it sure did drive the flu out of my system, even if most of it went by way of the slopjar.

But no sooner was I up from my sick bed than the wolf came sneaking around, barked once or twice, and mom and dad come down with the same affliction. Old Doc Benind fed they those red pills like they were plum pudding at Sunday dinner. I ran back and forth with the slopjar until my arms almost fell off. But what ever we did, old Doc Benjind and me, wasn't enough.

Old Doc was pretty let down about his remedy for the epidemic, but he reckoned several times "as how when God calls his Angels, they was nothing a mere mortal doctor could do but go along with the plan." He wanted to give me some medicine at the funeral to quit bawling with, but I told him that my dad had taught me how to be an optimist, and I wouldn't need anything to keep me going in the face of God's calling.

I never told him, even later, but when I saw Mom's and Dad's caskets going down into the ground, I came damn near burying my optimism with them, and I sure could have used some of Old Doc's special pills right then.

Wolf! Stay Away...-Chapter 2-

CHAPTER TWO

It wasn't long after the funeral before the wolf commenced to nipping at my heels like I was a piece of candy or something. Fact is, that old sonofabitch got to be like a phantom in ten pieces. He was in my dreams and nightmares so often that I got so I could almost see him when daylight came. My dad's house got to be a kind of prison for me, because the wolf was at the back door, the front door, and I didn't dare open the window. I guess that's when I realized the facts of life and declared open war on the beast with the horny eyes. Maybe I shouldn't have, but sometimes a young guy hasn't got the right slant on optimism like older folks have.

Besides, there were people in those days that claimed I was jinxed, and I got so I believed them. I wasn't scared, you understand; I just believed them. But right after I found out that the mayor wouldn't give me my relief food, because I wasn't of voting age, I took to hiding out in a bum camp. But sure as heck, I hadn't hardly got my belly full of mulligan stew more than two or three times, before the town cop busted up the place and made all the bums leave the best way they knew how. He said they were taking too much out of the town without leaving nothing in return.

One old fellow who did most of the cooking blamed it all on me because I stole a chicken from the mayor's henhouse. He gave me a sermon about stealing things and told me that no matter how bad things were, a person never had to stoop so low as to become a thief. He said there was plenty of doors to knock on if I was hungry enough.

Well, it was a lesson for me. I remember feeling pretty bad about busting up the gang like that, just for stealing a chicken to eat. I can sure tell you that I've never taken another thing in my lifetime either.

It didn't take me long to find out that that old professor in the bum camp was right about some things and wrong about others. I tried knocking on doors for a few weeks, but it was pretty slim picking most of the time. I found out that the best time to get something to eat was right when people were sitting down to their evening meal. A fellow could sit on a back step and get some half-warm grub that way. The only trouble was I never did like leftovers, especially used leftovers right off other people's plates.

I wasn't much for that kind of life and got saved from it when a band of gypsies came into town. I just kind of took up with them, and I probably would have stayed with them forever if they would have let me. They had a bunch of women that sure knew their place. They kept a kettle of something boiling most all the time. There was, sometimes, some strange things in the kettle, but they sure stuck to a fellow's belly with a passion.

The only thing I had trouble with was the evening ritual. Almost every day they'd gather around the campfire after the dinner was served. They'd get to singing and dancing and clapping those little dull bells that they carried, until the rhythm got in your blood and a fellow couldn't sit still for the fun of it. It wasn't any nights before I was up stomping around the campfire like the rest of them.

But I guess I got to stomping too good, and they thought I was one of them, because one night about a month later, I was kicking my heels up until I had outlasted all of them. There was just me and this old bag with the clickers in her hands left. I was helping her fan the embers around the charcoal pretty good, and she was giving me the clickers so fast that I could hardly stomp an answer.

The next thing I knew a whole damn bevy of those gypsy women came hoochy-cootchying out of the shadows and pinned me to the ground and punched a hole in my ear and reamed it out with a burning stick.

The men gypsies got a big bang out of it. They laughed like hell, as a matter of fact. But I was mad enough to fight all of them. I didn't like their pig-sticking ceremony.

Anyway, that was the night that got me kicked out of their camp for good. I slinked off to the tent they were letting me bonk in, right after those women had got done with their ear sticking. I was sure cussing under my breath too. But I laid it all down to experience and flopped onto my cot like it was the best place for me.

Then this little gypsy broad came sneaking into my tent. I never will forget her. She was just as pretty as a girl can be. First thing I knew, she was standing above my cot and humming one of those strange melodies that those kind of women like to sing.

She murmured in the American dialect, "You strong man! You make good love to me, No?"

I said no right back to her, and tried to tell her how my ear hurt so bad that I wanted to cry and would she please kiss it or something to make it better.

She misunderstood me, because all of a sudden leaned over and grabbed my cheeks in both hands and put her lips against mine and stuck her tongue right into my mouth.

I tell you right now, I would have pole-vaulted right out of that tent, if she hadn't held me down, pain in the ear or no pain in the ear.

She moaned and groaned about every second that she had her tongue darting back and forth in my choppers. Then she moved back a ways and, breathing real hard, she growled, "Hummm...You make perfect lover."

I didn't say anything to that, because I was trying to get my hands into my pockets. She was making me embarrassed about what was happening.

Then she went plumb wild. She started dancing and wiggling around and working herself into a frenzy. All the time she kept humming this melody to the music. Then she slipped out of her blouse like a horse pawing in the pasture, and stood near the opening of the tent like a quivering statue in the twilight. And I'll say right now that there is nothing prettier than a gypsy woman's titties shimmering in the shadows of a bright campfire while a couple of violinists are playing.

Then blooey! She swooped across the tent and shoved them dangling participles right into my face.

"Kiss, kiss, kiss," she moaned over and over, and I believed her.

Well, what the hell was a fellow supposed to do? I kissed both of them.

And as soon as I did, she got to trembling pretty bad and jerked away to the front of the tent and went back to her humming and dancing again.

Then, whoosh! Off came her skirt, and I got my first look at a woman's naked body. She was so hot by then that she was shaking and sweating. To tell you the truth, I was so excited that I was shaking too.

She came suddenly over to my cot and started unbuttoning my pants. "You make love now!" she ordered, as she fell down on me.

I had a pretty good idea what was going on by then, and I'll have to confess that I was ready.

But before anything happened, in stomps this big gypsy fellow by the name of Emanuel. He jerked that woman up by the hair of her head and slapped her ass all the way out of the tent. She stood outside and cussed him for a pig of a father, but left anyway.

Then this Emanuel fellow comes over and grabs me by the shirt collar and hauls me over to the chief's pagoda and tells the chief a bunch of stuff in gypsy talk. I screamed in English how none of it was true, but they must have had their minds on the foreign tongue.

It was just about then that I learned how dumb those gypsy people really were. A violinist started playing a real slow symphony, an old woman puffed her pipe and rattled a tambourine, and a beagle dog back off in the woods commenced to howl pretty bad.

The old chief stood up on the tongue of his wagon, folded his arms across his chest like a king making a public appearance, pointed a finger at me, and said, "The wolf cries loud. You have put a curse on us. Go now to your own people."

See how dumb he was. I tried to tell him that I had no people, but he wouldn't even listen. Then I tried to tell him the difference between a beagle dog hunting squirrel and a wolf with his nuts caught on a moon ray, and he got mad about that and uncurled his black snake leash. I got scared then and ran off before he even had a chance to flip his whip.

I guess I ran hungry for about two days before I remembered getting a firmness of heart and my optimism up to the boiling point. Besides that, my belly was mad enough to make me want to do something about it.

So I went back to the mayor and told him that I was a born American and was entitled to my share of the relief pickings, even if I couldn't vote. I told him as how Uncle Sam had never let my daddy down, and I was my daddy's blood, and I had a right to Uncle Sam's property like anybody else.

Right then I found out that the mayor wasn't such a bad guy after all. He commenced to dobbing his eyeballs and told me that I was really of the sod for volunteering like I was. He reckoned as how I was the first town son to step forward in a time of crisis, patted me on the shoulder like a real friend, and sat me down to a steak dinner cooked by his wife. Heck! He even tossed in some apple pie and ice cream, which I thought was right kindly of him.

He put me up in the jailhouse that night and then the next day he drove me up to the county seat and told me he was going to personally see that Uncle Sam knew all about my problems, and I wouldn't have to ever worry about a thing.

I felt so good when we got to the courthouse square that I kicked a big yellow cat off one of the benches. The cat raised its neck fur and hissed and spit at me about two times, and I thought it was so funny that I howled like a wolf, and the cat shot off a mouthful of "meows" and other stuff and took to a tree like it had turpentine on its ass.

The mayor didn't like that much. He said it wasn't right for a town son to be scaring cats when there was Japs that needed taking care of.

But I'll say one thing for the mayor. He kept his promise. Between him and the courthouse people and Uncle Sam, I soon found myself getting three squares a day and a warm place to bunk. Heck! I wasn't in the U.S. Army more than a day or two before I knew I was into a good thing. All I had to do was loaf around and sleep and eat. Some of those other guys said it was a miserable life, but I guess they never had to wade through snow to bust rabbits with a club or waddle in mud in the middle of November to hold a tough old boar while his old man cut out the goodies for supper.

Hell! The army was so good to me that when they found out I could cook beans, mulligan stew, and bake biscuit's, they elevated me to the rank of corporal and made a cook out of me. I really liked that. Why, I got to eating so good that I picked up more then eighty pounds in no time at all.

I guess I would have stayed in the army forever, if they would have let me. Those guys that you met in those days were a different breed of people than you meet now. I could sure use some pals now like I had then, but there's no sense relying on wishful thinking. A fellow just gets to feeling sorry for himself that way.

Wolf! Stay Away...-Chapter 3-

CHAPTER THREE

While I was in the army I got to see a lot of the world. I didn't like Africa much, because of the heat and dirt, but things got better when we crossed over to Italy. I learned some new dishes there and, also, how to cook things in wine. The guys really like that. Heck! Half the time they'd come sneaking into the cook shack to sneak samples before things were hardly on the stove. I never let on to them that I thought it was right nice of them to pay my cookin' such compliments. But I had a cook's pride. I'd let them gather around the marinating sauce and smell to their heart's content. Then I'd yell like hell and run them all out just as they started sneaking too much of the sauce. I guess I sounded pretty tough in those days, but I never really meant to be.

Then the army pulled us out of Italy and sent us up to Normandy. Things went sour for us a long time after that. By the time we were deep into France, most all of my old buddies were gone. It got so I was just a cook to a bunch of strangers. Those new fellows who began to take over were grumpy and too scared to do much playing around. They'd come back from patrol, eat whatever I had cooking, good or bad, and then crawl off by themselves somewhere until it was time to move again.

I'll have to admit that my cookin' wasn't the best in the world then, either. But we moved so fast that a guy couldn't get enough ingredients must of the time to make it even worthwhile to build a fire. Of course, those new fellows blamed it all on me. Some of them used to get real sore about it.

But, all in all, France wasn't such a bad place. It reminded me a lot of the country where I grew up. The farms were older, but the farmers did about the same things we did. At least I think they did. I just never could get much of a scientific explanation from the natives, because I couldn't understand much from the jabbering they did when they tried to explain something.

One thing I never got to see while I was in France was Paris. Heck, the way most of the guys talked, it was worth a whole war just to get a weekend there. Bit just about the time our outfit was getting close, I got hit, and the army shipped me back home.

I've had a secret urge all these years to see Paris on my own at least one time, but it's just been wishful thinking. I know I'll never get a chance now to see what the guys were talking about, even if I won one of those contests that would give a guy a free trip there.

But, like I was saying, I got hit, and they gave me a Purple Heart decoration and a couple of other medals and...

------

"Daddy --"

Excuse the interruption again. Laurie has something on her mind.

"Daddy, Daaadee... Am I going to be a mommy"?

"Why, Laurie, I hope so someday, honey. All girls should grow up to be mommies."

"I mean right away, daddy."

"Oh, no, Laurie. At least I hope not. Say, you haven't been doing anything I ought to know about, have you?"

"I don't think so, daddy. But Alice said I was going to be a mommy."

"Now, how does Alice know? Are you sure you haven't been doing anything?"

"Well, she showed me how to put this bandage thing on and said that the was a sigh I was getting to be a woman, and that things happened like this every month. She said every woman had to go through it if she was ever going to have a baby."

"Oh! Well, Laurie, I don't think Alice meant that you were going to have a baby right now. She was just trying to explain how nature takes its course. "

"Well, how come Harry doesn't have to wear a bandage like Alice and me? He's older that I am."

"That's because he's a boy. Boys grow up to be fathers. They have a different kind of nature."

You mean they don't have to worry about getting all messy every month?"

"Something like that. They just have to worry about paying bills."

"Oh, daddy... I wish I had been born a boy."

"You won't feel that way long, Laurie, honey. And stop crying. You're getting my shirt all wet. Why, just think of what it'll be like when you get all grown up and have a family of your own. Why, there isn't anything prettier then a little baby who belongs entirely to you."

"Really?"

"Sure. I can still remember when you were no bigger than a sack of cornmeal, but twice as soft. Why, your mother used to scold me something terrible, because I spoiled you rotten. 'Hank,' she'd say. 'You're just making work for both of us by picking her up like that every time she cries.' And I'd say, 'Maybe, but you notice how she falls right to sleep every time I do don't you?' And your mother would scold me some more. 'That's only when you're here,' she'd say. ' just can't get anything done in the daytime, because I have to spend so much time with Laurie.' And I'd say, 'You're just talking to be talking. You like to hold her as much as I do.' Then your mother would smile, and I'd put you in bed between us for the night, and you'd just grin and coo like you really understood what was going on."

"Did mommy really love me, daddy?"

Why, of course she did, Laurie. She loved all of you."

"Do you think she knows how things are down here with us, daddy. I mean with Miss Owens coming and all. Do you think she's watching over us, so we won't make it too hard for you to raise us up proper?"

"I don't know, Laurie. Heaven is a place no man can explain. But if it's at all possible, I'm sure mommy is with us every day."

"Well, I don't want to grow up and have babies if I can't be around to watch them when they need me."

"A person just can't always know what the future holds, honey. You'll change your mind when you get older, especially when you meet a man worth marrying."

"No, I won't!"

"Yes, you will. Just wait and see."

"I betcha I don't."

"Okay. I'll betcha. Now, you go back upstairs and tell Alice to let you read that book Mrs. Tucker gave her a couple of years ago. It'll explain everything you need to know about what's happening...babies and otherwise."

"Okay, daddy."

I swear Laurie just worries me to death sometimes. I'm afraid I'll never be able to make an optimist out of her. I guess I did spoil her a little too much through the years. But she's a bookworm. Maybe, she'll be smart enough when she gets marrying age to catch her a rich husband and won't have to worry about other problems in life. It's tough trying to explain some things to the kids though, and I'll have to admit that I'm sometimes short on public relations when it comes to the female approach at answering questions.

------

Now, let's see, where was I. Oh, yes. About this business of getting shot. Well, the army claimed I was wounded in action and shipped me back to a hospital in the States. They fixed me up with an artificial leg, and just after I got so I could skip along with my cane and wood walking-stick pretty good, they sent me home on a leave, even though I didn't much care about going back to the old burg. They claimed it was good for my morale, whether there was wolves there or not.

And I guess it was some, because I had people shaking my and along Main Street that used to slam doors in my face when I went looking for food before the war. For a while there, the mayor and town folks made me feel real important.

Why, the mayor got so excited that he even threw a big party in my special honor and invited the whole town. He even broke the lock on his basement door and got out some prewar liquor for all of us, claiming that it was his private reserve for political times.

And before I forget it, I want to put in a kindly word for the women there. They sure couldn't be beat on fixing country-fried chicken. It was so good that I sneaked about half a dozen pieces and hid them in my duffle bag to enjoy on my way back to the hospital. I don't know what their secret was, but I guess it had something to do with being able to get fresh chickens. They made real tasty potato salad, too.

Well, to get on with the story, the men had all filled their bellies up to their ears with chicken and was whooping it up pretty good on the mayor's liquor, when the mayor suddenly decided to give a speech. He got to telling everyone what a brave man I had been for volunteering for the army, and how I'd wiped out a whole company of Germans, and how I had been rushing to knock out a German cannon, when I got caught in a crossfire of enemy machine guns.

I stood up then and got mad and waved my cane in the air and yelled at him that he was a liar. At least I thought I did. But the people were yelling so loud, about then; and, I guess, thought I was agreeing with the mayor. My tongue was so thick from his liquor that I couldn't get my words out straight, fast, or loud enough. Next thing I knew, they carried me to the train station on their shoulders and shipped me back to the hospital, before I had a chance to explain that the mayor was just plain off his rocker. And since I've never been back to the old home town, I'd like to set the record straight right now.

What really happened was that our outfit had been up in the front lines for almost two weeks. It was cold, wet, and we had had nothing to eat but dry K-rations all the time we were there. Our bellies had just got out of shape for good hot food.

Anyways, we got sent back to a rest area, and I went right to work and whipped up a real good hot meal for the guys. The supplies weren't any too good where we were, but I made do with what I could lay my hands on. Some of the fellows shot a tame pig, and I found a sack of navy beans some clerk had missed. I put them all together and stewed up a big batch of pork and beans. And, boy! you should've seen those guys take to it. I was real proud of my accomplishments that evening.

But, then, like I said, our bellies just weren't in shape to take on good hot food, especially mine. Long about the time the dishes were all cleaned up, the beans got to working on me pretty bad. So I kind of moseyed out the back door of the cook tent, flapping my apron like nothing in the world was wrong.

I whistled a little ditty and started for the latrine, but when I turned a corner I found a line there that must have been a mile long. I felt real sorry for some of those fellows then, because most of them were all bent over with the cramps something terrible.

Well, I stood in line for as long as I could, and it seemed like it was hardly moving more that an inch or two. Then all of a sudden I spotted this foxhole off a ways and dropped out of the latrine line and went whistling nonchalantly toward it, so none of the other guys would catch on to what I was doing.

Just a few yards in front of the foxhole was a tree. I got a flurry of cramps myself about the time I reached the tree and wanted to run for that foxhole as fast as I could. But I didn't dare. I figured that if the fellows in the latrine line spotted me, there wouldn't be enough space around the foxhole in ten seconds to toss a hickory nut, let alone do what I had to do.

So I lit a cigarette and leaned up against the tree like I was just taking an evening smoke in the sunset and fought the cramps and tried to hold my apron down. It was worrying me sick, because it was flapping in the breeze like a flag on a admiral's ship, and I didn't dare take it off for fear the men of the latrine line would see it at half-mast and know that a new front had been opened up.

After awhile, the cramps settled down, and I pushed away from the tree real gentle and cautious like, and eased off toward the foxhole again, whistling, "John Brown's Misery," like I hadn't a care in the world.

Yes, sir, I really played it smart. Those guys in the latrine line were so busy worrying about the time from here to there, that they never caught on one least little bit. It was a funny thing, right then, but I couldn't help remembering a thing my dad had taught me about the optimistic approach to life. "Hank, son," he had often said, "use your thinker when you're in a tight spot and you'll get ahead every time."

Anyway, I finally backed up to the edge of the foxhole, flipped my apron up over my shoulder and kind of hunched forward to undo my pants. Right about then, exertion got the better of me, and I ripped off one of those uncouth personal noises louder than a cherry bomb in a mine shaft.

Before I had a chance to duck, this crack shot kid from Kentucky jumps up dead center of the foxhole and pulls down on me with his M-1. Right then I knew my blooey job had backfired.

When I came to, I felt like I was hanging above a roaring bonfire with my tukus about to turn black from the smoke. I was having a bad time figuring it all out, because the medics had me face down on a stretcher and was lifting me off the ground, and I could see my left foot dangling in front of my face, ad things were swimming around something fierce.

Then I heard this kid from Kentucky telling the captain a bunch of lies about a German patrol, and how I'd tossed a grenade at them and run them all off, and how he'd shot at one and thought he'd wounded him. Then I heard the captain saying something about Silver Stars and Purple Hearts, and I kind of got mixed up and screamed something about fire-red asses and fainted.

There wasn't much use to try to ell the captain the truth of the matter when I woke up later, because he was like all the rest of the regular army people. When it came to explanations they were as bad as those gypsies in most ways. When they had an opinion made, there was just no use trying to talk them out of it. Anyway, I didn't feel like I wanted to get that kid from Kentucky in any trouble. Putting myself in his shoes, or foxhole, I guess I'd have shot him too, if he'd a done to me what I did to him.

Wolf! Stay Away...-Chapter 4-

CHAPTER FOUR

When I got released from the hospital and was out in the world on my own again, I didn't worry about the old wolf hardly at all. Maybe it was because I'd got to be a civilian grown-up and wasn't as scared about things as I once was. Besides, I had enough money in my pocket that I didn't have to think about where the next meal was coming from.

And, too, things had changed a lot by then. Where I used to get doors slammed in my face and an occasional boot off a doorstep, I found that people had learned to be just the opposite. Heck, I'd go limping down the street playing tic-tac-toe with my cane and wood leg, and people would just bust a gut being kind. More that once I'd sit down in a restaurant for a meal and some sweet old lady would pick up my bill and just insist that she was part of the war effort too. It got so I was feeling just like a celebrity or something for a while.

But I had restless feet in those days. I had overheard a lot about things I hadn't known about while I was in the Army. I used to listen to some of the fellows coming back off leave telling and bragging on all the cathouses they had toured. The guys always seemed to compare the cathouses where we were to the ones in New York and claimed there was none better than there. So that's where I finally headed, figuring to see some of the country and a couple of cathouses, before I settled down and ran out of money.

But, on my way across country, I got to talking to a porter on the train, and he shot all kinds of holes into the theory about New York owning the best cathouses. He claimed the best were all in Chicago. He even gave me an address to call at, if I was interested in a good proposition. So when the train stopped in Chicago, I got off, hailed me a taxicab, checked into the "Y" Hotel, and went on out to take a look at my first cathouse.

That porter sure must have had his wires crossed, because the address on the slip of turned out to be a beer joint way out in Cicero. I was let down pretty bad when the cabdriver let me off there, but the people inside were just whooping it up so good that I decided to join them. First thing I knew I was sitting there drinking fancy highballs with the best of them, and wasn't in no hurry to see a cathouse at all.

The bartender got friendly right off and set me up one or two drinks. I got to talking about everything and telling him how I'd come to his place expecting to find a cathouse and found a bar instead.

The bartender laughed so hard that he got me to laughing too, and it got to be a pretty good joke between us. He started calling me Joe then, and I didn't have the heart to tell him that wasn't my real name, especially since he promised he'd get on the phone and get me a sure-fire appointment with a friend of his at a real nice cathouse.

He was kind of a funny guy in some ways, though, because when this cute little blonde came up to me and got nice and loverly, just before he made his telephone call, he got mad as all get-out and ordered her out of the place. He called her a dirty name too, and that made me a little sore, because it felt good having my arm around a girl. Heck! I was feeling so good with the highballs that I wasn't in any hurry to see his friend's cathouse anyway.

But just as I was about to say something to him about it, this cabdriver came in and the bartender called him over and introduced us. The bartender said that the cabdriver was a very close friend of his who would get me right out to the fanciest cathouse in Cicero. So I took his word for it and went along without getting into an argument about the blonde.

He was right. The cathouse turned out to be a real plush joint. I almost blacked out when I saw it, because I wasn't used to being around fancy places like that. But this fellow wearing a black hat and red and gold uniform, who looked like one of those British National Guard soldiers, came down a long flight of marble steps and opened the cab door for me. I couldn't back out gracefully then, but I wanted to. And just as soon as I stepped out of the cab I came darn near saluting the soldier fellow, but I remembered I wasn't in the army anymore, so I called him Colonel and let it go at that.

He smiled knowingly at that and said, "I'm a General, Joe."

I apologized and told him that I was sorry, but I just wasn't familiar with the British system of classifying officers. He said it was all right and that it didn't make much difference, because nobody else in Chicago knew either.

I'll say one thing for the soldier though. For a negro general in the British National Guard, he sure was a perfect gentleman. The way he treated me you'd of thought officers were slaves to the enlisted men.

I soon found out that the people inside were a lot different than him. I had figured that since the general had been so kind to me, I'd just mosey on in and bluff my way around like I was used to being in rich places...you know, just acting unconcerned and nonchalant. But right after I stepped across this marble entrance way, my feet sank into this fluffy red carpet, and my wood leg got all tangled up crossways, and I fell and dumped over this flower vase filled with sand and made a bad mess all over the floor. I felt so red in the face that I just wanted to play dead, but I couldn't because I was breathing too hard.

Anyway, I didn't have time, because this plainclothes policemen came running up to me like the place was on fire and jerked me up to a sitting position. "What'sa matter with you? Ya drunk or something?" he yelled right into my face.

That made me sore, mostly because his breath stank, and I was going to yell right back at him, until I saw his forty-five sticking out of his shoulder holster under his coat and realized he was just a cop doing his job.

"No, sir," I answered him. "My leg just twisted in your carpet and I couldn't keep my feet."

"You sure couldn't, buddy," the cop said. "Look at this mess. I ought' a make you clean it up."

My daddy had always told me that when you hurt somebody's feelings it was only fair to do something good for them to make it right.

"Well, sir, Mr. Policeman," I said, trying to smile. "If you'll just help me to my feet and show me where the broom is, I'll be glad to clean everything up for you."

The policeman looked at me real queer-like for a minute or two. "Oh, gee, Joe," he finally said. "I didn't realize --"

I started to tell him I was sorry again, but he reached down under my armpits and lifted me straight up to my feet so fast that it took my breath away.

He dusted me off real good and said, "Don't worry about cleaning nothing up, Joe. I was only kidding. What can we do for you?"

Right about then I figured that the cop recognized me from the bartender's telephone message. "Well, sir," I said. "I've come clear from California to visit me a cathouse. My bartender friend over in Cicero said this was the best one in Chicago."

"It sure is, pal," the cop grinned. "How much do ya wanna spend?"

"Heck, I don't know. Where's the ticket window, so I can see the price of seats."

That cop must have been bothered with nerves or something. His chin dropped down to about chest level, and it looked like it took him about two minutes to get it back in gear so he could close his mouth.

He blinked his eyes a few times like an owl waking up, then he said, "How much money are you carrying, Joe? This here cathouse ain't only the best in Chicago, it's got very stiff prices."

Well, nervous affliction or no nervous affliction, I wasn't going to let him bluff me out, not after I'd come that far, anyway.

"About fifteen hundred bucks," I bragged.

It was really only twelve hundred, but I didn't want him to believe that I couldn't afford to be in his place, even if I didn't have the education or breeding to go with it.

The cop's chin dropped down again. I really felt sorry for him. I sure wouldn't want to be seen in public with an affliction like that.

"Say, you old hound dog," he finally said and winked. "You don't ... heh, heh... want to get your ashes hauled this early in the evening, do you?"

"Heck, no," I said, "I don't even want to clean the furnace."

"Hah, hah," the cop laughed. "I didn't think you were interested in that part of our business. Come along with me and I'll introduce you to some of the cats. They'll see that you get what you want."

He led me to a room down the hall a ways and I was sure let down when I saw the cats. Heck, all they were was a bunch of guys standing around a big felt table shooting craps. If I'd know that, I'd a stayed in California where the crap shootin' was good and the fishin' better.

"Hey, Sam," the cop said to the guy that was running the table. "Take good care of Joe here. He's just bustin' to have some fun."

I didn't pay much attention to what I was doing then. I just walked on over to the table and tossed a twenty dollar bill out, and Sam handed me the dice, and I jiggled them for a second or two and threw them back.

Sam said, "No, dice! Gotta hit the rail, Joe."

He gave me the dice again, and I threw them where he said. I was feeling kind of sore at myself. Heck, I just couldn't figure out how the guys in the army could talk about pussy and cathouses so much like they were something exotic, when all the time they were just blowing off about shootin' craps in a fancy joint.

"A natural!" Sam said. "Let her ride, Joe?"

Not paying much attention to him, I picked up the dice and tossed them at the rail again. Boy! Was I sore at myself for being so stupid. All the way from California just to shoot craps, I kept thinking.

"Four! Four's the point!" Sam said.

I threw the dice at the rail like I was mad at them and looked across the table. A big redheaded marine was grinning at me. I grinned back.

"Five is almost!" Sam said. "That counts in horseshoes, but the game is craps. Lay yer money out gentlemen, or go home losers."

There was a sudden flurry of hands and money on the table.

I threw the dice and looked at the marine again. He winked and I winked back. He had a couple of pretty women clinging to each arm. One was blonde and one was brunette. I got to thinking that I ought to work around the table and make friends with him.

"Four's the point and four it is!" Sam said. "Still yer dice, Joe. Let her ride?" He pushed the dice over to me with his little cane.

I threw the dice.

"Eleven!" Sam said. "Black dot ticket to Heaven. You're hot tonight, Joe."

The big marine and his two women came around the table and shoved in beside me. He winked at me and so did one of his women...the brunette. I threw the dice.

"Eight! Eight's the point!" Sam said, "Can he do it forever or does he crap out. Hitch up yer wallets or get your money down, gents."

There was another flurry of hands and money.

The big marine whispered in my ear, "Let's see you do it, buddy I'm with you all the way." He tossed fifty bucks down on the table.

This little brunette the marine had with him unwrapped herself from his arm, shoved over close to me, smiled real pretty, and got me all excited. I threw the dice.

"Eight right back," Sam groaned.

The marine grinned again and said, "My name's Barney."

I said, "Mine's Hank," and we shook hands.

"This is Marge," Barney said, nodding toward the brunette.

I winked at her and she winked back.

"And this is Betty," he said putting his arm around the blonde and giving her a hug.

"Glad to meet you all," I said.

"Still your dice," Sam growled.

"Think you can do it again. Hank?" Barney grinned.

"Sure," I said. "If Marge here will kiss the dice for luck."

"Honey, if you keep this up, I'll kiss more than your dice." Marge cried, holding my hand and putting her lips against my fingers.

I threw the dice.

"Seven!" Sam groaned, as Marge jumped up and down and squealed.

Barney said, "That's my boy. I'm with you all the way."

I grinned at Marge, and she put her hand up on the back of my neck and rubbed it hard.

"Were you serious about what you said about kissing," I asked.

"Baby, one more toss like that last one, and you've got yourself a broad for a week," Marge said, her voice just dripping with sex.

"I don't know as I want a broad," I said. "But I sure would like to do some kissin' tonight."

"Any way you want it, Hank...any way you want it," Marge said and squeezed my hand.

"The game is craps, soldier," Sam growled. "Let's get on with it. You can do your screwin' later."

I guess I was making him nervous some, taking so much time like that, but I was more interested in Marge than the game by then anyway. I held the dice over for Marge's good luck kiss again.

She took hold of my right hand--the one holding the dice--and rubbed it against one of her breasts and then the other. Then she bent over and kissed my fingers with her tongue.

Boy! I came damn near throwing the dice clear off the table.

"Seven!" Sam growled with a croak in his throat.

Marge threw herself against me so hard that I had to put my arms around her to keep from falling backwards. She wiggled up against me so tight that I about forgot where I was at.

Barney said, "Hank, old buddy, we sure are gonna have a party to end all parties tonight. You gonna rake in now or go for broke?" He was grinning like a hot piano player on a nickelodeon.

"Razz my old tazz," I said. "Go Again!"

Sam handed me the dice. He was sweating bad. He wasn't smiling much, either. I guess he didn't like the way Marge was rubbing all over me, but heck, I didn't care. I was having lots of fun with my new friends, whether he liked it or not.

Right then, Marge did something that really surprised me. She took my hand and rubbed it way sown low on her belly. I got to shaking so bad that I just about didn't get the dice up against the rail.

"Nine! Nine's the point!" Same said, and, for a change, smiled a little.

"Marge," I said. "Don't get too good with your luck bringin'." I was still shaking.

I could see that she understood, because she sobered up real quick

Sam was grinning.

Barney winked at me, "Don't let it worry you, Hank," he said. "You're too hot to crap out now."

By then a lot of people had crowded around the table and were spoiling my aim. It took me about five tosses before old number nine rolled up again. Just as soon as Sam handed me the dice, I turned to let Marge do her tricks again.

Barney grabbed my arm. "Pick up your money, Hank," he hissed. He pulled all of his in and stuffed it into his pockets real fast. "Just roll a twenty and let's get out of here."

"It's okay with me," I shrugged and picked up my money.

Marge helped me stuff it all into my pockets.

I rolled the dice.

"Snake eyes," Sam said, and sounded just like a snake.

Barney grabbed my arm and Marge grabbed the other. Just as we got to the door, that cop-fellow stepped out in front of us.

"Not leaving so soon, are you gents?" he said, not smiling.

I guess he must have been mad about something, because he had his coat unbuttoned and his hand on his forty-five.

Barney's face twisted into a snarl. He hunched forward a little bit. "Yeah!" he growled.

That's when all hell busted loose. The cop started to pull his pistol out, and big Barney hit him on the chin and knocked him colder than a sow's belly in a snow storm.

The next thing I knew, some fellow that looked like old yellow fangs, the wolf, was coming straight for me with a blackjack in his hand. So I just ups with my cane and speared him straight in the belly.

By this time, big Barney was bustin' heads all over the place. He yelled to Marge and the other girl to get me out to the car. I never saw so much confusion in one place at one time in all my life. People were running all over, in all directions, and shouting something about an air raid at the top of their lungs. One poor guy came out of a room across the hall without his pants on and even ran out to the street in his bare feet.

Marge and Betty got to pulling on me so hard that I just couldn't maneuver. Then, too my wood leg kept sticking in the carpet so bad that I couldn't make any time at all. Then it all struck me as funny and I got to laughing about it so hard that tears came to my eyes and I fell down and couldn't move at all.

Marge and Betty got disgusted with me and ran on out of the place. But I'm just like my daddy was in a lot of ways. When I get to laughing, nothing in the world matters until I get it all out of my system.

All of a sudden, big Barney caught up with me and hoisted me up on his back and carried me out to the car, where Marge and Betty were waiting.

Then Barney drove us to his hotel, and we went up to his room and all got acquainted real good.

And it was a real Wing-Ding party we had. Marge wasn't kidding about what she had said about kissing. She gave me a lesson in sex that I've never forgot. She sure charged me enough for it though. I knew that I could afford it after the crap game at the cathouse, but five hundred dollars is a lot of money. I sure wish I had it all back now.

Wolf! Stay Away...-Chapter 5-

CHAPTER FIVE

Big Barney and I got to be inseparable buddies from that day on. He got to laughing like a mad man when I told him how I happened to be in Chicago at that cathouse, and was my face a pretty shade of purple when he told me what cathouses really were. I never was that stupid about anything since. I can sure tell you that.

Anyway, big Barney knew all about the wolf bellerin' at times, because he confessed to me that he had heard the wolf often enough himself. He didn't have any kin left either, so the both of us just made it up like we were a regular family. From then on, we just traveled from one place to another living high off the hog like a couple of rich people having plenty of fun.

My optimism was in the best possible shape in those days. Nothing went wrong for a long time. If my optimism was running lucky, so was my shooting hand with the dice. It seemed like the only thing I could do with the "rattle babies" was throw sevens and elevens.

We'd get into a city and big Barney would find a joint someplace where a game was going. Then we'd wait until a payday night when a crowd was around and on in and pick up a bundle.

I never once worried about any smart guys getting rough with us, because big Barney just wouldn't mess with them. Heck, I saw him take on two or three fellows at one time several occasions. He'd plant them in bye-bye land so quick that he wouldn't even get to breathing hard.

Big barney sure liked to live, I'll say that for him. But one thing that always worried me about him was the way he'd spend money. He could blow it so fast you hardly knew you had it. It just seemed like one bankroll per tow was the way it had to be. I'd put most of my earnings in a suitcase and leave it there, because Barney insisted on doing all the buying. I tried to tell him lots of times that we weren't broke, but he'd get mad and claim we were, and I wouldn't have the heart to try to out-talk him.

He'd say, "Hank, money is for spending. You just set back enough to get us in a game now and then, and I'll worry about the rest. If that magic hand of yours keeps on working, we'll never be chased by the wolf again."

And he was right, because my hand just kept working and working. But one time my habit of putting my money in a suitcase got us into more trouble than a guy could dream possible.

It was about October 1948 up in New Hampshire. We'd been up in that country most of the summer. We'd stayed longer in one spot than most, because big Barney was in love with a girl there. He claimed he wasn't, but I knew he was, because when she ran off and got married to another man, he just fell to pieces. We just about got snowed in for the winter, because of it, and I guess we would have, if I hadn't pulled another duncy boner.

After Barney's girl had run off, he said he was going to park there forever and wait for her to come back. We rented us a little shack on the edge of Pittsfield -- that's the town we were in -- and went to housekeeping like a couple of bachelors with no maid service.

Thinking back about it all now, I think I really enjoyed it there more than any place Barney and I had ever been. Living out was a real vacation for me. There was plenty of hunting and fishing and fun things to do. Sitting here like I am now, I can still remember walking through the woods there, hour after hour, watching the pretty leaves come swirling down off the trees, like a shower of fairyland creatures, brilliant in all their pungent beauty, dying before their day. It was something to remember, that patch of woods in Pittsfield. Then, too, I was only a couple of miles away from the ocean, and I'd go to the beach sometimes and sit all day ling to watch the sailboats on the sea, and get chilly up and down my spine when the golden sunsets curled red across the white-topped waves. It was beautiful. I kind of wish I could go back to Pittsfield now and see those things again, but I know I never will.

Anyway, big Barney was so much in love that he forgot about living expenses, so I just naturally figured it was time to bite into the resources in my suitcase. We got to running short of supplies, so I pulled a few bucks out of the poke and went into town to get some refreshers. No sooner --

"Dad, Hey, dad!"

"Don't slam to door so hard, Marty. You might break the glass."

You'll have to excuse the interruption for a minute. You know how it is with kids when they have an emergency.

"Harry and John won't let me shovel snow with them, dad."

"Why not, Marty?"

"'Cause I ate supper over at Mike's house."

"That's why you're so late getting home, huh?"

"Sure, dad. It was good too... Hi, Laurie. How come yer not out playing in the snow?"

"Because grandma fell off the roof, silly."

"Laurie! That's not the right expression. If you can't understand that book, ask Alice to tell you how to discuss your problem."

"All right, daddy."

"Can I go help Harry and John, dad? Just a little bit maybe?"

"Why wouldn't they let you help them, Marty?"

"'Cause they said they were almost done getting bread and boloney for supper, and I wasn't titled to none, 'cause I already et! Hi Alice."

"Marty! you get right out of those wet clothes this instant!"

"That's right, Marty. You had better do as Alice says. You're built too close to the ground to be shoveling snow anyway."

"Oh. All right."

Alice is just like a mother to Marty. She's taken care of him the biggest part of his life anyway. I guess over the years she has pinned more diapers on him than I have.

"Dad --"

"Yes, Wonderland."

"Hey! Goodie-goodie! Here comes Harry and John, Alice! And they've got a great big grocery sack with them."

"Laurie, you had better not be up to your usual tricks. If you're kidding --"

"I'm not, Alice. Honest I'm not. And boy! Is John all wet and frozen. He looks like he's been rolling in snow."

Excuse me for whispering again. Laurie likes to play act a lot. She gets to reading a book, and then she'll look out the window or go to the door and make the other kids think it's all going on for real outside. She's pretty good at it, too. She's fooled them often enough. Me too, as a matter-of-fact.

"Hey, dad! We got some bread and boloney."

"See, Harry, I knew you could do it."

"Yeah, pop! We sure did! And we earned enough to get some other things, too."

"Like what, John?"

"Oh, other stuff."

I better explain right now that John's got a sweet tooth. You can just about bet that every time he gets some money he'll find some way to squeeze in a little candy. But he's not selfish. He always gets enough to split even-steven with his brothers and sisters.

"What kind of stuff, John?"

"Oh, just something for dessert, pop."

"Like what, John?"

"A bag of candy, pop. But it ain't a big bag. I didn't do wrong did I, pop?" I mean there's enough to go around. You aren't mad, are you, pop? You always said the wolf won't eat candy."

"No, John, I'm not mad. I imagine a little candy for dessert never hurt anyone."

"Gee, pop. You're the greatest dad in the world."

"Thanks, John. But I --"

"Hey! Where's the TV set?"

"It's gone, Marty."

"Gone? Gone! Where'd it go to? It ain't broke down or nothing, is it?"

"No, son, it didn't break down. The furniture company came and got it and most of the other furniture today. There just wasn't any way to keep them from taking the TV set. I'm sure sorry about it."

"How come? They had no call to do that, pop."

"I'm afraid they did, John. We were just too far behind on our payments."

"Why those dirty-ernies --"

"No swearing, young man."

"But, dad --"

"Yes, Marty."

"What are we going to do for entertainment, now?"

"I guess you'll just have to read a book. Yes, that's it. Why not read a story and put on a play like you used to do."

"Aw...That's no fun unless there's somebody to watch it."

"Marty! You stop talking like that. It's not very kind of you at all."

"That's alright Alice. I'm sure Marty didn't realize what he was saying. Did you, Marty?"

"No, dad. I'm sorry."

"Humph! Little boys just don't know nothing about life, that's all."

"Haw! How would you know prissy pants."

"Laurie! John! Let's not have any of your squabbles this evening."

"Yes, dad."

"Okay, pop."

" Yeah, Miss Owens don't like arguments."

"That's enough out of you, too, Marty."

"Aw..."

"Say, dad, John and me did pretty good shoveling snow."

"Of course you did, Harry."

"I mean, besides the bread and baloney, dad, we made better than six bucks. I hope it snows for a week."

"Well, I hope you saved some back for a rainy day."

"Nope. Sent it all. We bought some bacon and eggs for breakfast, and we got a great big grapefruit for you dad. Seeing as how you haven't had any lately, we figured you'd like a little dessert, too."

"Harry, you shouldn't have done that. Nobody is entitled to special privileges around here.

"It's not a special privilege, dad. We had seventeen cents left over, and we saw this great big grapefruit and knew how much you like them. Besides, you never eat our candy, and you have to have dessert once in awhile too."

I guess maybe Harry ought to be a lawyer when he grows up. He sure knows how to beat the spider out of the bush to get around a problem.

"Oh...I see what you mean, Harry."

"You do?"

"That's just a figure of speech, Harry. Why don't you see if you can give Alice a hand in the kitchen."

"Okay, dad."

"And thanks for the grapefruit, son."

"Sure."

"Say, dad -- "

"Yes, Wonderland."

What am I going to feed the kids on, since the furniture company took our table and chairs?"

"I guess they'll have to stand around the cabinet by the sink."

"But Marty can't reach that far."

"Marty said he ate at Mike's house. He probably won't want anything except the dessert, and I think he can reach that well enough."

"Harry and John said that they got a couple of cans of soup. I think Marty ought to have some. It's pretty cold outside, and he just can't live on candy."

"Well, see what you can do, Wonderland. Maybe you can find a box for him to stand on."

"Are you going to eat with us?"

"No. It'll be crowed enough in the kitchen as it is. You kids just go on and eat. Besides, I'm not much hungry this evening."

"Yes, you are! And you know it. I'll bring you some hot soup and a sandwich. How do you want your grapefruit fixed?"

"Just save that for tomorrow, Wonderland. Soup's plenty for today."

"Okay, dad. Coming right up in a jiffy."

Alice is sure going to make a fine woman for some man some day. She's a lot like her mother, the way she fusses and worries over the kids and everybody. I guess a man would have to go pretty far to find a daughter as good as her.

------

Now, let's see, where was I? Oh, yes. Pittsfield and the suitcase money.

I hiked all the way into Pittsfield that day to a grocery store, figuring to get a box or two of stuff to hold us together until big barney got done licking his love wound. But having been a cook in the army had kind of got my eyes trained to fill more bellies than Barney and I owned. Heck, I guess I tried to buy enough supplies to feed a platoon.

Anyway, somewhere between the flour, bacon, sugar, and jellybeans, this old geezer at the store gets to nosing into my business affairs something terrible.

"Figurin' on laying up for the winter?" he says, wiggling his mouth at me over his bifocals.

"Nope." I said. "Just a week or two until my buddy gets over his wound."

"Hurt pretty bad?" the old geezer says, wrinkling his eyes up tight.

"Worse than anytime I've ever seen him. But he'll get over it."

"Where you staying?" the old geezer says, tamping down a sack of navy beans on his greasy counter.

"Couple of miles outta town."

"Which way?"

"South. Near the place where the road forks off toward the west."

"Must be the old Pot's place," the old geezer says, like he's a walking authority or something. "I heard tell it was going to seed pretty bad."

"Don't know about that," I says. "Big barney, that's my buddy, rented it."

"Oh, he did, huh?" the old geezer sneers. "Well, if he done business with Peter Pot, he got a skinnin' Bet he paid a pretty penny to rent it. You'd do well to watch old Pot. He'd boil his own mother in oil, if he could get away with a extra penny er two."

"A watched pot never boils," I says. "I don't know how much Barney give for the place, but he ain't one to come out second best in a business deal."

The old geezer looks at me for a second or two and stumbles around with a few 'haws and 'humphs,' before he could get his false clickers set proper to go on prying into by business.

"Where you workin'? he finally asks.

"No where. We're just taking it easy for a spell."

"Pretty hard buying groceries, when a fellas not got a job or income," the old geezer says in a real suspicious tone.

"We've got a little saved up to keep the wolf from the door," I says, getting pretty disgusted.

"That'll be eight three, seventy eight," the old geezer says real smart and sudden like. "I don't take no checks or give credit."

I wish you could have seen that old bastard hovering over the stack of groceries on the counter. The way he had his arms spread out and his face all screwed up at the mouth, you'd have thought he was a buzzard with his talons caught in a dead carcass and couldn't stand the stink.

"What do you charge for delivering," I says, figuring to set him down some.

"Dollar in town. Three dollars out to the Pot's place."

"Can you get them out by sundown?"

"Yep."

"Good," I says, and peeled out five twenties.

"Ain't you got nothing smaller than that," the old geezer says, while his bifocals danced on his nose. "Don't like to use up all my change on one transaction."

"Just keep the change," I says like a big shot. "There's plenty more where that came from."

The old geezer couldn't say a word for choking on his falsies. I figured it was worth thirteen dollars and twenty-two cents to put him in his place.

Well, come sundown, I was a diddling around at the cook stove with a couple of fox squirrels I had killed, figuring I'd cook up a real delicacy for big Barney and cheer him up some. But at the time big Barney was sitting by the front window just staring off to the west like he was facing a firing squad. The sunlight streaming through that window on the New Hampshire dust specks made his face look like the side of an eroded cliff. I don't think I ever was him look so old and used up as he did then with his face all streaked with the shadowy darkness like that.

Then, all of a sudden, he jumped up and screamed, "She's come back! Hank, old buddy, she's come back!" Then he tore out the door like a bull chasing a kid through an apple orchard.

He scared the hell out of me with his sudden commotion, and I flipped the squirrel clear up around the stove pipe and got my wood leg so tangled up in the oven door trying to retrieve it with the frying pan, that I came damn near being a reared casualty again.

Right then, there was one hell of a racket outside, and I went to investigate.

It looked like the whole town of Pittsfield, armed to the man with pick handles, pitchforks, crowbars, shotguns, and slingshots, had invaded the front yard. Big Barney was standing in front of the crowd with his dukes up like he was about to pick chickens by the dozen. I figured I'd better hurry on out and talk some, before he lit into them.

But, no sooner had I stepped off the front porch, when this old geezer from the grocery store starts doing a foxtrot up and down in front of another geezer who was wearing a six pointed star on his shirt front.

"That's him, Beeb! That's the feller! Put the cuffs on him, Beeb! Put the cuffs on him!"

This Beeb guy wasn't paying much attention. He was facing big Barney, and ordering him to put his dukes down or get shot at sunrise. But big Barney was in a fighting mood. He hunched up and plowed into that crowd so fast that I didn't have a chance to stop him. He busted about ten of those pumpkin heads to the ground, before they even begin to realize that the marines had landed. But about this time, this Beeb character sneaks up behind Barney and cracks him across the back of the head with an ax handle, and the fight was over.

About then, this old geezer from the grocery store gets to screaming, "We got 'em! We got 'em! See, Beeb, I told you they was crooks."

Then this Beeb guy saunters over to me, rubbing his star like he was an agent of the Internal Revenue Service or something.

"You the feller what cashed five twenty dollar bills at Puckett's Super Market this afternoon?" he says out of the side of his mouth.

"Nope!" I says. "I'm the fellow who blew a hundred bucks on groceries in that old geezer's food shop this afternoon. Which, I gotta tell you, ain't been delivered yet."

"Same difference," this Beeb guy says, tapping his Billy club-ax against the palm of his hand. "You city fellers sure think you're somebody when you get into the country."

"Us city fellers, begging your pardon, Mr. Officer," I says just as smart as he was talking. "sure didn't know there was a law against spending money in your town."

"There ain't, if the money is come by honestly," Beeb smirks.

"Well, it was come by honestly."

"That so?"

"Yeah, that's so."

"Then you won't mind telling me where you got it, will you?"

"Heck, no!" I grinned, figuring I had him there. "I got it out of the suitcase."

"What suitcase?"

"My suitcase. The one in the cabin there."

"Get the suitcase!"

"Go to hell! It ain't none of your business."

"I'm making it my business. Get the suitcase."

"Get it yourself!"

Then this charming Beeb fellow turns to his posse and says,

"You men hold this guy at gunpoint while I investigate the cabin. If he makes a move shoot him.

Well, I was pretty sore and didn't have my thinking cap on very straight; so just to show them, I folded my arms and stood back like I didn't really give a damn. But when I saw this Beeb start advancing on the cabin, I got to giggling real hard. I knew I was close to a laughing jag and did every thing I could to suppress it.

But, hell, Beeb was just a sight bellying across the front porch like a hound dog with a case of pinworms. Heck, I wasn't the only one who commenced to giggle either.

But what really iced the cake was when Beeb came stumbling out of the cabin with the suitcase clutched to his belly, just a puking and choking like a regular machine. I had left the squirrel in the frying pan on the stove, and I could tell by the whiff I got from clear out front that Beeb must have thought a skunk had pissed in his face. There sure isn't a thing worse than the compelling odor of burnt squirrel in a closed shack.

I just plain rolled up in a fit of laughter right then. The posse had to pick me up and carry me to a truck and from the truck to the jail. And, then, it was almost morning before I could get my tickler stopped.

Anyway, come morning, things were both good and bad. Barney came-to just growling like a bad bear about justice and the back of his head. In a way, I was glad to hear him growling about the damage done to his noggin, because I could tell hen that the fight had been just like a dose of occupational therapy and had cured him of his love wound, which he had licked long enough.

I read in a book somewhere about this business of occupational therapy. I memorized one passage and still quote it to the kids once in a while when they get to acting too smart about what they learn in school. I don't know the source, but it goes:

"Occupational therapy is the only device known to medical science whereby a patient, set upon a rewarding emotional and physical program of manipulations, and thus be enticed from a nebula of self-instilled, physiological sadness with psychological complications, without the sociological benefit of the physician's general panacea of all ills -- the monthly statement -- can thus cure himself and refuse to pay the bill."

Which all means, I think, one good jolt to the head is often enough to cure a sick heart. Personally, I like my dad's optimistic approach better.

Anyway, by mid-morning big Barney and I were in a hell of a mess. We had been charged with counterfeiting, suspicion of bank robbery, attempted arson, the Mann Act, the Dyer Act, disturbing the peace, battery and assault while resisting arrest, and vagrancy. Hell! this Beeb guy had even wired the FBI in Washington, D.C. that he was holding us until the FBI extradited us to wherever we had committed our crime.

When he brought us our baloney and cold chili for lunch, Beeb was so cocky that for once I was mad enough to fight...especially since he just slopped the food through the jail bars like we were dogs or something. But big Barney beat me to it. He dipped into his bowl of chili with one hand and threw a glob on the stuff right into Beeb's shining, pee-brained face.

Beeb went to sputtering like a go-go girl without her skivvies and hissing vengeance like a pup nipping at a horse's tail. "Big feller," he says, "you'd better watch your step or the next time I bust your head you'll need three doctors to sew it back together again."

"Hayseed," big Barney yells at the top of his lungs, "when you open this jail door the first time, I'm going to personally jam your Billy club down your throat and break it off inside your neck."

"I've handled tough birds like you before," Beeb says.

"Not from the front like a man," big Barney growls. "And I don't care how many are around you buster, when we get out of here, you're the first. You can count on that."

Then Beeb gets cocky and saunters right up to the jail bars to make his nest quotation.

Blam! Big Barney reached through the jail door and grabbed Beeb right around the left biceps and started squeezing. Big Barney was just too strong for any man. You could just about hear the bones cracking in Beeb's arm as Barney put the pressure to him. Beeb screamed bloody murder. When Barney let him go, he fell to the floor like a mop with a broken handle.

"That's only the start, hayseed," Barney said. "Now, you go tell your friends how tough you are. Just remember the day this door opens is the day me and you are going to have at it. You bring all the Billy clubs you want...one isn't going to be nearly enough."

Big Barney calmed down right after that. For a while there, I thought he was going to start mooning over his love affair again. But, then, he got around to talking, and I know everything was all right.

"Hank, old buddy, how did we get into this mess, anyhow?" I sure don't remember getting on a drunk or nothing."

"Danged if I know, Barney. All I did was walk into town to buy some groceries. And when that old geezer at the grocery store brought the groceries to the cabin he also brought the whole town along with him. Soon as he got there he started screaming to everybody that we were crooks, just because I gave him five twenty-dollar bills."

"Well, that sure ain't a crime," Barney said.

"Yeah, but when you got mad and busted into them, they were sure we were on the run from something."

"Sorry about that," Barney said.

"Then this Beeb character wanted to know where I got my money, and I told him out of my suitcase. When he opened it up he swore to high heaven we were bank robbers, because no honest person would hide that much legal money in a suitcase."

"How much was you carrying?" Barney asked, looking kind of funny.

"Close as I can figure, about eighteen thousand."

"Eighteen thousand!"

Yeah, Least ways, I think it was."

"In a suitcase!"

"Sure. You know I always put most of my winnings there. I wouldn't have touched it at all, if we hadn't needed some groceries to eat on."

"Hank, old buddy," Barney said and then went to laughing like his old self. "Haw, haw...hee, hee...you're just too much," was the way he ended it.

I laughed pretty hard for a while myself. Then I said,

"Then you ain't mad at me for spending the money?"

"Mad? Hank, you're the first guy I've ever known that I never got mad at," Barney said, turning serious again. "You're just too honest for your own good."

"I'm sure glad you're not mad at me about the money. But you ought'a be sore some about me getting us throwed in the clink."

"Hank, you didn't get us throwed in here. It wasn't your fault, at all. Don't you ever believe it was. Those jerks out there are what we fought for in the war. They'll yell blood every time it rains. They've just got to pick on someone, or they'd be fighting each other. We were the strangers in town and they elected us. We couldn't have done nothing right in their eyes if we had walked down the main street with crosses on our backs. There are a lot in the world like them, Hank. You ought a know that by now."

"Yeah, Barney, I guess there is."

"It's only when you're strong enough to beat the jerks at their own silly games that it counts, Hank. Always remember that."

"Sort of like being an optimist, huh?"

Yeah, Hank. But with guts."

"Well, I've sure got plenty of guts now, all right. Even if they are growling empty as can be."

"Sure you have, Hank. Say, just to change the subject, you know what we ought to do when we get out of here?"

"Sure. Get the hell out of town as quick as we can."

"I mean besides that," Barney said.

"Beats me," I shrugged. "I guess, head south for the winter."

"Nope!" Barney grinned. "We're going west and find us a business to get into."

"Heck. I thought we were in the crap-shooting business. That is a business, ain't it?"

"Sure. But not the right kind. We need something worth working at. This 'easy-come, easy-go' stuff just ain't getting us no place."

"It got us all over the country a couple of times, and --"

"I don't mean traveling, Hank. I mean something that we can keep for appearance sake--like the things other people have got. Something we own and nobody can take away from us while we're fighting to keep it."

"Well, I don't know much about the fighting part, but doing something else for a change is okay by me. That is, if it ain't nothing like coal mining or something like that."

"You can bet it won't be coal mining, Hank. We'll look around and find us a real respectable business. Okay?"

"Okay," I replied.

Then Barney went to musing about his new idea, and I could see that there wasn't going to be anymore talk for a while, so I laid down on my iron cot and took a nap.