John bought several pounds of number six shot, three dozen heavy lead sinkers, and a pound of “natural leaf” for Sipes, and two pounds of natural leaf for himself. I was tempted to purchase a few cakes of soap and present them to John as a souvenir of the trip, but remembering that it is the tactless people on this mundane sphere that have most of the trouble, I changed my mind and purchased a big briar pipe for him. He was greatly pleased with it, and thought that “in about six months smokin’ it ’ud git mellered up an’ be a dam’ fine pipe.” We bought some crackers, cheese and a can of sardines for our lunch, which we ate out under one of the trees.
“I don’t know what Sipes has to ’ave so many sinkers fer,” remarked John. “He wants me to git ’im a whole lot ev’ry time I come to town. I guess ’e must use ’em fer bait, fer I offen find ’em in ’is fish when I dress ’em.”
The expression on the old man’s face conveyed a suspicion that he was not quite as gullible as he might be, and that Sipes’s strategy had not entirely deceived him. He probably had his own quiet way of adjusting matters on an equitable basis.
After lunch we spent a few minutes more with the wise ones in front of the store, deposited our parcels under the seat, released the reluctant horse and departed.
“Them fellers that set ’round that store don’t ’ave nothin’ else to do,” said John. “They set inside in the winter time an’ do a lot o’ talkin’, an’ sometimes I set with ’em just to hear what’s goin’ on. When it’s hot they set outside an’ count the clouds, but they’re always settin’, an’ they don’t never hatch nothin’. Ev’ry year one or two of ’em drops off, an’ thar ain’t many of ’em left to what thar was ten years ago. They didn’t none of ’em amount to much, but I guess they’re just as well off now as anybody else that’s dead.”
The contents of the greasy pouch had been sadly depleted at the store, but we got more “cash-money” from the few remaining houses in the village. The miller took three fish, and credited John’s account with the amount of the sale. There was a debit on his books against John for flour and meal furnished during the winter.
It was getting late in the afternoon, and it was a long way to John’s smoke-house, where the unsold portion of the stock must be “dressed an’ put in pickle,” preparatory to smoking it.
We returned by the same route as we came. The poor old woman was “waitin’ at the gate,” and turned sadly toward the house as we passed. She carried her cross in silence, and the picture was pathetic.
On the way back we saw a sharp-featured man with red hair, who had come out of a house and was waiting near the road.
“That feller,” declared John, as we approached the possible purchaser, “gives me pains. He seen me goin’ by all right this mornin’, but ’e didn’t come out. He’s a tight wad, an’ ’e thinks I’ll sell ’im fish fer almost nothin’ before I’ll tote ’em back. I’ve got ’em all trained but ’im. Now you just watch me.”