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—only small checks and crosses。 At random across the page
were drawn little round； seated cats with long curved lines for
tails。 Jake stared。 The faces of the little cats were human and
female。 The faces of the little cats were Mrs。 Brannon。
'I have checks here for the beers；' Brannon said。 'And crosses
for dinners and straight lines for the whiskey。 Let
me see' Brannon rubbed his nose and his eyelids
drooped down。 Then he shut the tablet。 'Approximately twenty
dollars。'
'It'll take me a long time；' Jake said。 T3ut maybe you'll get it'
〃There's no big hurry。'
Jake leaned against the counter。 'Say； what kind of a place is
this town？'
'Ordinary；' Brannon said。 'About like any other place the same
size。'
'What population？'
'Around thirty thousand。'
Jake opened the package of tobacco and rolled himself 。 a
cigarette。 His hands were shaking。 'Mostly mills？'
That's right。 Four big cotton mills—those are the main ones。 A
hosiery factory。 Some gins and sawmills。'
'What kind of wages？'
'I'd say around ten or eleven a week on the average— but then
of course they get laid off now and then。 What makes you ask
all this？ You mean to try to get a job in a
mill？'
Jake dug his fist into his eye and rubbed it sleepily。 'Don't
know。 I might and I might not。' He laid the newspaper on the
counter and pointed out the advertisement52
he had just read。 'I think I'll go around and look into this。'
Brannon read and considered。 'Yeah；' he said finally。 'I've seen
that show。 It's not much—just a couple of contraptions such as
a flying…jinny and swings。 It corrals the colored people and
mill hands and kids。 They move around to different vacant lots
in town。'
'Show me how to get there。'
Brannon went with him to the door and pointed out the
direction。 'Did you go on home with Singer this morning？'
Jake nodded。
〃What do you think of him？'
Jake bit his lips。 The mute's face was in his mind very clearly。
It was like the face of a friend he had known for a long time。
He had been thinking of the man ever since he had left his
room。 'I didn't even know he was a dummy；' he said finally。
He began walking again down the hot； deserted street。 He did
not walk as a stranger in a strange town。 He seemed to be
looking for someone。 Soon he entered one of the mill districts
bordering the river。 The streets became narrow and unpaved
and they were not empty any longer。 Groups of dingy； hungry…
looking children called to each other and played games。 The
two…room shacks； each one like the other； were rotten and
unpainted。 The stink of food and sewage mingled with the
dust in the air。 The falls up the river made a faint rushing
sound。 People stood silently in doorways or lounged on steps。
They looked at Jake with yellow； expressionless faces。 He
stared back at them with wide； brown eyes。 He walked jerkily；
and now and then he wiped his mouth with the hairy back of
his hand。
At the end of Weavers Lane there was a vacant block。 It had
once been used as a junk yard for old automobiles。 Rusted
pieces of machinery and torn inner tubes still littered the
ground。 A trailer was parked in one corner of the lot； and nearby was a flying…jinny partly covered with canvas。
Jake approached slowly。 Two little younguns in overalls stood
before the flying…jinny。 Near them； seated on a box； a Negro
man drowsed in the late sunshine； his knees collapsed against
each other。 In one hand he held a sack of melted chocolate。
Jake watched him stick his fingers in the miry candy and then
lick them slowly。
53
。Who's the manager of this outfit？
'
The Negro thrust his two sweet fingers between his lips and
rolled over them with his tongue。 'He a red…headed man；' he
said when he had finished。 'That all I know； Cap'n。
'
'Where's he now？
'
'He over there behind that largest wagon。
'
Jake slipped off his tie as he walked across the grass and
staffed it into his pocket。 The sun was beginning to set in the
west。 Above the black line of housetops the sky was warm
crimson。 The owner of the show stood smoking a cigarette by
himself。 His red hair sprang up like a sponge on the top of his
head and he stared at Jake with gray； flabby eyes。
〃You the manager？
'
*Uh…huh。 Patterson's my name。
'
'I come about the job in this morning's paper。
'
*Yeah。 I don't want no greenhorn。 I need a experienced
mechanic。
'
'I got plenty of experience；' Jake said。
'What you ever done？
'
Tve worked as a weaver and loom…fixer。 I've worked in
garages and an automobile assembly shop。 All sorts of
different things。
'
Patterson guided him toward the partly covered flying…jinny。
The motionless wooden horses were fantastic in the late
afternoon sun。 They pranced up statically； pierced by their
dull gilt bars。 The horse nearest Jake had a splintery wooden
crack in its dingy rump and the eyes walled blind and frantic；
shreds of paint peeled from the sockets。 The motionless
merry…go…round seemed to Jake like something in a liquor
dream。
'I want a experienced mechanic to run this and keep the works
in good shape；' Patterson said。
。I can do that all right。'
'If s a two…handed job；' Patterson explained。 'You're in charge
of the whole attraction。 Besides looking after the machinery
you got to keep the crowd in order。 You got to be sure that
everybody gets on has a ticket。 You got to be sure that the
tickets are O。K。 and not some old dance…hall ticket。 Everybody
wants to ride them horses； and you'd be surprised what niggers
will try to put over on you when54
they don't have no money。 You got to keep three eyes open all
the time。'
Patterson led him to the machinery inside the circle of horses
and pointed out the various parts。 He adjusted a lever and the
thin jangle of mechanical music began。 The wooden cavalcade
around them seemed to cut them off from the rest of the
world。 When the horses stopped； Jake asked a few questions
and operated the mechanism himself。
'The fellow I had quit on me；' Patterson said when they had
come out again into the lot。 'I always hate to break in a new
man。' 'When do I start？'
Tomorrow afternoon。 We run six days and nights a week—
beginning at four and shutting up at twelve。 You're to come
about three and help get things going。 And it takes about a
hour after the show to fold up for the night。' 'What about pay？'
'Twelve dollars。'
Jake nodded； and Patterson held out a dead…white； boneless
hand with dirty fingernails。
It was late when he left the vacant lot。 The hard； blue sky had
blanched and in the east there was a white moon。 Dusk
softened the outline of the houses along the street。 Jake did
not return immediately through Weavers Lane； but wandered
in the neighborhoods near…by。 Certain smells； certain voices
heard from a distance； made him stop short now and then by
the side of the dusty street。 He walked erratically； jerking from
one direction to another for no purpose。 His head felt very
light； as though it were made of thin glass。 A chemical change
was taking place in him。 The beers and whiskey he had stored
so continuously in his system set in a reaction。 He was
sideswiped by drunkenness。 The streets which had seemed so
dead before were quick with life。 There was a ragged strip of
grass bordering the street； and as Jake walked along the
ground seemed to rise nearer to his face。 He sat down on the
border of grass and leaned against a telephone pole。 He settled
himself comfortably； crossing his legs Turkish fashion and
smoothing down the ends of his mustache。 Words came to him
and dreamily he spoke them aloud to himself。
55
。Resentment is the most precious flower of poverty。 Yeah。'
It was good to talk。 The sound of his voice gave him pleasure。
The tones seemed to echo and hang on the air so that each
word sounded twice。 He swallowed and moistened his mouth
to speak again。 He wanted suddenly to return to the mute's
quiet room and tell him of the thoughts that were in his mind。
It was a queer thing to want to talk with a deaf…mute。 But he
was lonesome。
The street before him dimmed with the coming evening。
Occasionally men passed along the narrow street very close to
him； talking in monotones to each other； a cloud of dust rising
around their feet with each step。 Or girls passed by together；
or a mother with a child across her shoulder。 Jake sat numbly
for some time； and at last he got to his feet and walked on。
Weavers Lane was dark。 Oil lamps made yellow； trembling
patches of light in the doorways and windows。 Some of the
houses were entirely dark and the families sat on their front
steps with only the reflections from a neighboring house to see
by。 A woman leaned out of a window and splashed a pail of
dirty water into the street。 A few drops of it splashed on Jake's
face。 High； angry voices could be heard from the backs of
some of the houses。 From others there was the peaceful sound
of a chair slowly rocking。
Jake stopped before a house where three men sat together on
the front steps。 A pale yellow light from inside the house
shone on them。 Two of the men wore overalls but no s