| OCR Text |
Show 25 in washing to earn money, but Jame brought the only dependable income into the family. Or he had, until that day. A surge of anger flowed through Karl toward the drooping form of Jame, who was at last showing some sign of life by raising his hand to wave away the flies that buzzed around the clotted blood in his red-gold hair. Why had Jame pulled such a dumb stunt just to get a laugh? Why had he thought he could get away with it? Of course Schwenk and Weitz could tell that Jame had done it -- Jame was the only one sitting there looking as pure as an altar boy, while the rest of the men split their sides laughing. So why hadn't Jame thought ahead, figured out that he might lose his job? Karl felt sorry for Jame, but he felt a lot sorrier for himself. If he didn't have a good job, his parents would make him stay in school until his sixteenth birthday. Three autumn months spent sitting in a dumb classroom, wasting his time, and for what? There was no question that he was going to quit school the day he was old enough to apply for a man's job in the mill; his parents had agreed to that, expected it. So what good would three more boring months of school do him? None at all. Karl groaned in frustration. A huckster with a wagon nearly emptied of vegetables came toward them, traveling the opposite direction across the bridge. When he got close, the huckster's mouth dropped open at the sight of Karl and Jame. He let the reins hang slack over the horse's back, twisting his head all the way around as the wagon passed, until his neck wouldn't turn any farther. |
