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Father for a while—just a short while。' They turned at the first
corner； and Jake stood watching them a moment before
walking on。
The main street was quiet and hot； almost deserted。 He had
not realized until now that it was Sunday—and the thought of
this depressed him。 The awnings over the closed stores were
raised and the buildings had a bare look in the50
bright sun。 He passed the New York Cafe。 The door was open；
but the place looked empty and dark。 He had not found any
socks to wear that morning； and the hot pavement burned
through the thin soles of his shoes。 The sun felt like a hot
piece of iron pressing down on his head。 The town seemed
more lonesome than any place he had ever known。 The
stillness of the street gave him a strange feeling。 When he had
been drunk the place had seemed violent and riotous。 And
now it was as though everything had come to a sudden； static
halt。
He went into a fruit and candy store to buy a paper。 The Help…
Wanted column was very short。 There were several calls for
young men between twenty…five and forty with automobiles to
sell various products on commission。 These he skipped over
quickly。 An advertisement for a truck…driver held his attention
for a few minutes。 But the notice at the bottom interested him
most It read：
Wanted—Experienced Mechanic。 Sunny Dixie Show。 Apply
Corner Weavers Lane & 15th Street。
Without knowing it he had walked back to the door of the
restaurant where he had spent his time during the past two
weeks。 This was the only place on the block besides the fruit
store which was not closed。 Jake decided suddenly to drop in
and see Biff Brannon。
The cafe was very dark after the brightness outside。
Everything looked dingier and quieter than he had
remembered it。 Brannon stood behind the cash register as
usual； his arms folded over his chest。 His good…looking plump
wife sat filing her fingernails at the other end of the counter。
Jake noticed that they glanced at each other as he came in。
'Afternoon；' said Brannon。
Jake felt something in the air。 Maybe the fellow was laughing
because he remembered things that had happened when he
was drunk。 Jake stood wooden and resentful。 'Package of
Target； please。' As Brannon reached beneath the counter for
the tobacco Jake decided that he was not laughing。 In the
daytime the fellow's face was not as hard…looking as it was at
night He was pale as though
51
he had not slept； and his eyes had the look of a weary
buzzard's。
'Speak up；' Jake said。 'How much do I owe you？'
Brannon opened a drawer and put on the counter a public…
school tablet。 Slowly he turned over the pages and Jake
watched him。 The tablet looked more like a private notebook
than the place where he kept his regular accounts。 There were
long lines of figures； added； divided； and subtracted； and little
drawings。 He stopped at a certain page and Jake saw his last
name written at the corner。 On the page there were no figures
—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