"Ain't she cute?" Red Sam's
wife said, leaning over the
counter. "Would you like to
come be my little girl?"
"No I certainly wouldn't," June
Star said. "I wouldn't live in a
broken-down place like this for
a minion bucks!" and she ran
back to the table.
"Ain't she cute?" the woman
repeated, stretching her mouth
politely.
"Arn't you ashamed?" hissed
the grandmother.
Red Sam came in and told his
wife to quit lounging on the
counter and hurry up with these
people's order. His khaki
trousers reached just to his hip
bones and his stomach hung
over them like a sack of meal
swaying under his shirt. He
came over and sat down at a
table nearby and let out a
combination sigh and yodel.
"You can't win," he said. "You
can't win," and he wiped his
sweating red face off with a
gray handkerchief. "These days
you don't know who to trust,"
he said. "Ain't that the truth?"
"People are certainly not nice
like they used to be," said the
grandmother.
"Two fellers come in here last
week," Red Sammy said,
"driving a Chrysler. It was a
old beat-up car but it was a
good one and these boys
looked all right to me. Said
they worked at the mill and
you know I let them fellers
charge the gas they bought?
Now why did I do that?"
"Because you're a good man!"
the grandmother said at once.
"Yes'm, I suppose so," Red
Sam said as if he were struck
with this answer.
His wife brought the orders,
carrying the five plates all at
once without a tray, two in
each hand and one balanced on
her arm. "It isn't a soul in this
green world of God's that you
can trust," she said. "And I
don't count nobody out of that,
JOY FEELINGS | DECEMBER ISSUE
235