in the middle of squirrels and minetipples in the middle of the blue Pennsylvania summer sunday the little glasses sucking to get the last drop of communion
and I felt itchy in the back of my neck would I be struck by lightning eating the bread drinking the communion me not believing or baptized or Presbyterian and who were the Molly Maguires? masked men riding at night shooting bullets into barns at night what were they after in the oldtime night?
church was over and everybody was filing out and being greeted as they went out and everybody had a good appetite after communion but I couldn’t eat much itchy in the back of the neck scary with masked men riding Molly Maguires
Newsreel IX
FORFEIT STARS BY DRINKING
“Oh bury me not
on the lone prairie”
They heeded not his dying prayer
They buried him there on the lone prairie
COLLEGE HEAD DENIES KISSES
then our courage returned for we knew that rescue was near at hand, we shouted and yelled again but did not know whether we were heard. Then came the unsealing and I lost consciousness. All the days and nights fell back and I dropped into a sleep
VOTE AT MIDNIGHT ON ALTMAN’S FATE
This is the fourth day we have been down here. That is what I think but our watches stopped. I have been waiting in the dark because we have been eating the wax from our safety lamps. I have also eaten a plug of tobacco, some bark and some of my shoe. I could only chew it. I hope you can read this. I am not afraid to die. O holy Virgin have mercy on me. I think my time has come. You know what my property is. We worked for it together and it is all yours. This is my will and you must keep it. You have been a good wife. May the holy virgin guard you. I hope this reaches you sometime and you can read it. It has been very quiet down here and I wonder what has become of our comrades. Goodby until heaven shall bring us together.
Girls Annoyer Lashed in Public
COVETS OSTRICHES
In a little box just six by three
And his bones now rot on the lone prairie
Mac
Mac went down to the watertank beyond the yards to wait for a chance to hop a freight. The old man’s hat and his ruptured shoes were ashen gray with dust; he was sitting all hunched up with his head between his knees and didn’t make a move until Mac was right up to him. Mac sat down beside him. A rank smell of feverish sweat came from the old man. “What’s the trouble, daddy?”
“I’m through, that’s all… I been a lunger all my life an’ I guess it’s got me now.” His mouth twisted in a spasm of pain. He let his head droop between his knees. After a minute he raised his head again, making little feeble gasps with his mouth like a dying fish. When he got his breath he said, “It’s a razor a’ slicin’ off my lungs every time. Stand by, will you, kid?” “Sure I will,” said Mac.
“Listen, kid, I wanna go West to where there’s trees an’ stuff… You got to help me into one o’ them cars. I’m too weak for the rods… Don’t let me lay down… I’ll start bleedin’ if I lay down, see.” He choked again.
“I got a coupla bucks. I’ll square it with the brakeman maybe.”
“You don’t talk like no vag.”
“I’m a printer. I wanta make San Francisco soon as I can.”
“A workin’ man; I’ll be a son of a bitch. Listen here, kid… I ain’t worked in seventeen years.”
The train came in and the engine stood hissing by the watertank.
Mac helped the old man to his feet and got him propped in the corner of a flatcar that was loaded with machine parts covered with a tarpaulin. He saw the fireman and the engineer looking at them out of the cab, but they didn’t say anything.
When the train started the wind was cold. Mac took off his coat and put it behind the old man’s head to keep it from jiggling with the rattling of the car. The old man sat with his eyes closed and his head thrown back. Mac didn’t know whether he was dead or not. It got to be night. Mac was terribly cold and huddled shivering in a fold of tarpaulin in the other end of the car.
In the gray of dawn Mac woke up from a doze with his teeth chattering. The train had stopped on a siding. His legs were so numb it was some time before he could stand on them. He went to look at the old man, but he couldn’t tell whether he was dead or not. It got a little lighter and the east began to glow like the edge of a piece of iron in a forge. Mac jumped to the ground and walked back along the train to the caboose.
The brakeman was drowsing beside his lantern. Mac told him that an old tramp was dying in one of the flatcars. The brakeman had a small flask of whisky in his good coat that hung on a nail in the caboose. They walked together up the track again. When they got to the flatcar it was almost day. The old man had flopped over on his side. His face looked white and grave like the face of a statue of a Civil War general. Mac opened his coat and the filthy torn shirts and underclothes and put his hand on the old man’s chest. It was cold and lifeless as a board. When he took his hand away there was sticky blood on it.
“Hemorrhage,” said the brakeman, making a perfunctory clucking noise in his mouth.
The brakeman said they’d have to get the body off the train. They laid him down flat in the ditch beside the ballast with his hat over his face. Mac asked the brakeman if he had a spade so that they could bury him, so that the buzzards wouldn’t get him, but he said no, the gandywalkers would find him and bury him. He took Mac back to the caboose and gave him a drink and asked him all about how the old man had died.
Mac beat his way to San Francisco.
Maisie was cold and bitter at first, but after they’d talked a little while she said he looked thin and ragged as a bum and burst into tears and kissed him. They went to get her savings out of the bank and bought Mac a suit and went down to City Hall and got married without saying anything to her folks. They were both very happy going down on the train to San Diego, and they got a furnished room there with kitchen privileges and told the landlady they’d been married a year. They wired Maisie’s folks that they were down there on their honeymoon and would be back soon.
Mac got work there at a job printer’s and they started payments on a bungalow at Pacific Beach. The work wasn’t bad and he was pretty happy in his quiet life with Maisie. After all, he’d had enough bumming for a while. When Maisie went to the hospital to have the baby, Mac had to beg a two months’ advance of pay from Ed Balderston, his boss. Even at that they had to take out a second mortgage on the bungalow to pay the doctor’s bill. The baby was a girl and had blue eyes and they named her Rose.
Life in San Diego was sunny and quiet. Mac went to work mornings on the steamcar and came back evenings on the steamcar and Sundays he puttered round the house or sometimes sat on one of the beaches with Maisie and the kid. It was understood between them now that he had to do everything that Maisie wanted because he’d given her such a tough time before they were married. The next year they had another kid and Maisie was sick and in hospital a long time after, so that now all that he could do with his pay each week was cover the interest on his debts, and he was always having to kid the grocerystore along and the milkman and the bakery to keep their chargeaccounts going from week to week. Maisie read a lot of magazines and always wanted new things for the house, a pianola, or a new icebox, or a fireless cooker. Her brothers were making good money in the real estate business in Los Angeles and her folks were coming up in the world. Whenever she got a letter from them she’d worry Mac about striking his boss for more pay or moving to a better job.