| OCR Text |
Show page 223 umbrellas. The matronly ones waddle past hurriedly, with outraged mutterings, "Right out in public, no respect whatsoever." Young g i r l s undulate by, giggling, trying to catch Blue's or Jabbo's eye. But i t ' s one thing at a time with Blue and Jabbo. Coot Palms opens the door of his cafe and sticks his head out. Coot is nut brown, balding. He has a tight rope to walk. Blue and the boys eat l o t s of chicken and fish, drink beer and never seek c r e d i t . On the other hand Coot is a church deacon. He has a t i g h t rope to walk. "Now Blue, Jabbo, you a l l know batter than t h a t . You a ll got mothers, s i s t e r s , maybe wives." Blue cuts in impatiently, "I a i n ' t got nobody but Blue. You want no gambling on your premises, say so, w e ' l l go to Fewky's." Which i s to say they'd go where dice originated. Fewky's is a one-room s t o r e , flush Xi7ith the sidewalk, covered with a roof of galvanized t i n . A window on the left is boarded up. Blue knocks. His cronies keep an e ye peeled for Lattimore - Billy Nabb, the law. Across the street un-painted clapboard houses crowd each other. On the corner is a United Baptist church. Between the church and Fewky's is an open ditch, interrupting the sidewalk, running through a culvert. Half-naked youngsters play in the stagnant water of the ditch. Blue knocks t h r e e more times, urgently. His palms are itching. Inside, coin of the realm, r a t t l e s plain for him to hear, like treefrogs singing in a t a l l chinaberry t r e e. Papa Jack hears i t too and sucks his snags and does a buck and wing. "Listen,man! Oowee! Silver dollars! llWho's there?" inquires a gravelly voice. T»» |
