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Show page 224 "Me." "Who's me?" "Peetie Wheatstraw, the d e v i l ' s son in law," Blue answers. "I'm gonna l e t you in t h i s time, Peetie, but next time bring your pappy in law." Everybody's welcome at Fewky's, the peglegged, goiternecked, linimented and lazy. Just claim kin with the d e v i l , the password. Rays of a dying sun f a l l across Fewky's threshold, bringing out reddish brown spots on the rough pine floor, xvhy Fewky says, " I ' l l take them owlheads and hawkbills." Blue is bold and so is Jabbo, both kneeling among the players. But Fewky i s a bonafide politico on home ground. Christened Willie W. Faircloth in a sharecropper's cabin forty six years ago, h e ' s been around; has cooked on a dredge boat in Paducah, has done time in Parchman, has skipped and dodged, has drunk muddy water, has slept in hollow logs when the dogs were after him. Fewky came t o our town a ragpicker and junkman, prospered, shrewdly kept himself a t t i r e d in some of the rags he collected, causing poorer folks to say, "Poor Mr. Faircloth, l e t ' s give him t h i s junk." Fewky dresses b e t t e r now, in dungarees and collarless silk shirt. Size eleven gaiters adorn his feet. He covers a lot of ground for a medium man. He t e l l s the boys in front so they don't feel bad behind. Hefs subtle, like be-bop on a v-crimp roof, watching Blue, Jabbo, and cronies already around the blanket, aided to the dozen already t h e r e . He makes sure two-by- fours are across the doors before attending to other duties. Wa' i -"-ahfllenan haiTT^ caller for the dice. |
